


Serpent's Court - Episode 2

by dtriter



Series: Harry Potter and the Chapters of Remembrance [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Hogwarts Sixth Year, Multi, Wizengamot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:42:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 57,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25416346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dtriter/pseuds/dtriter
Summary: Episode 2: Then Leaf Subsides To LeafThe rule of the Wizengamot can be marked in centuries with its history stretching into time immemorial.  It is therefore anomalous that such change and upheaval would follow so closely the scant months comprising the presence of Lord Potter within its ranks.  A humble stem from tragic roots, what flowered from his touch stands as monument to his fruits.—The Last Enemy, Vol. I: SigillumDaphne GreengrassHarry never had any childhood to speak of.  So when adulthood came for him early, I don’t think he really noticed.—Research InterviewsHermione Granger
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Pansy Parkinson, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley
Series: Harry Potter and the Chapters of Remembrance [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1023720
Comments: 8
Kudos: 6





	1. Burrow

**Author's Note:**

> Episode 1: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/14665626>

# BURROW

[misericordiam.net](http://misericordiam.net)

Sun. 14 July

He didn’t like people looking after him. Mrs. Weasley didn’t need to make him breakfast. Harry had arrived at the burrow much later than expected. He had detoured from his planned route—to visit Director Bones. He needed to talk with her about what she had done in becoming his guardian. But as fate continued to insist, Harry Potter could not and would not be lucky.

The Bones residence was cold and dark. Neither Susan nor Amelia had been present, and not knowing when they would return or where they could be found, Harry made the late evening trek to the Burrow. Almost everyone had been asleep when he arrived, but in breaking the wards, he had woken Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. He regretted that, but it had started to rain and his other options were not appealing. Molly had offered to make him tea, but both he and Arthur had felt it best to just get to bed. So Harry had made his way to Ron’s room taking care at the first landing to sneak past Ginny’s room.

He had wanted to see his friends—Ginny in particular—but it was not worth waking them from their slumber. In the wake left by his debacle with Susan, Harry had been thinking about some of the things Ginny had said.

‘I want you to be part of my family.’

She’d been angry then. Furious at how he had insensitively hurt Hermione by blaming her inexperience for Ron’s injury.

He wondered what she had meant. Had her true intent leaked out in that moment of frustration? Harry had detected several signals from Ginny over the years. Well... okay... she had been obsessed with him in her first and second years, but something had shifted. She had grown—matured. And now... after losing something with Susan that he wasn’t sure he understood...

Harry wondered what Ginny had meant.

But Ginny and Hermione had already departed when Harry had woken. He had risen late, and it wasn’t as though they should wait for him, but he was still disappointed. Mrs. Weasley must have seen him ruminating.

“I shouldn’t worry. They’ve been taking off early each morning. Something about a gym. I expect they’re just getting in some exercise. Mind now, girls of their age often find a need to focus on an unreasonable body image.”

Molly sat eggs and bacon down in front of Harry. It was actually somewhat odd to be in a kitchen and not be cooking, but as he imagined himself cooking for Mrs. Weasley, he couldn’t get past how strange that seemed too.

“Oh! And speaking of an unreasonable body image, Miss Delacour will be getting back in couple weeks with Bill. I don’t suppose you’ve had time to catch up since the Triwizard.”

No they hadn’t. Really, he and Fleur had barely spoken during the tournament. The longest exchange that Harry remembered was when she thanked him for bringing back Gabrielle from the lake. No one had bothered to inform him or Fleur that her sister was in no true danger. Just another way in which the leaders of magical education often felt the need to deceive instead of illuminate.

“No, ma’am. When do they usually get back?”

Molly chuckled.

“Well... they usually make it back in time for lunch, but they’ll probably demand a shower before sitting down for the meal. I don’t know what they are getting up to, but whatever it is it’s a workout.”

~ diffindo ~

“Then why don’t you just tell him?! Aargh!”

Hermione flung a hex at Ginny who stepped just to one side letting the spell deflect off her shield. Hermione was drenched. Ginny had always been a tenacious fighter, but it seemed like Harry’s return to the Burrow had lit something within her.

“Oh yeah! Like. You. Told. Ron.”

Each word was punctuated with a different jinx sent in Hermione’s direction. They were in a surrounding spread so she couldn’t just dodge. She pushed more energy into her shield, ducked, and turned sideways to limit the attack surface area. Her magic bore the attack and rebounded. They hadn’t been very powerful.

“You took like three _years!_ ”

And then Hermione saw the trap. Ginny had lowered her into a crouched position effectively pinned. The bludgeon that now powered at Hermione was not going to simply deflect off her shield and she’d already dumped much of her reserve into it during the previous attack.

This was going to hurt.

A part of her mind was disturbed at how elated this realization made her. Pain was penance. Penance was the only forgiveness that would ever matter. It had a quality of the religious.

‘May thy holy light of agony wash away the sin.’

When the joy receded Hermione found herself sitting on her throbbing rear end. Though since her whole body hurt, her bottom barely registered.

Ginny was still across the room waiting for her to recover. She didn’t look worried for Hermione which was ultimately for the best. This had happened many times. Ginny was far more powerful than she knew.

The determined eyes looking out from Ginny’s concentrated stance told Hermione that she would be given no additional quarter. Good.

Hermione made a show of painfully getting up. About halfway up she snapped her wrist and sent a leg locker Ginny’s way. Out-gunned, outpaced, and outmanoeuvred Hermione turned to her remaining weapon... cunning.

Quickly behind the binding hex, Hermione sent a levitation spell. Then she had to wait. The last incantation was too good to waste if one of the precursors failed.

Ginny almost jumped the leg locker, but it clipped her left heel and that was all that was necessary. The Levicorpus that travelled in close pursuit lifted Ginny up and against the back wall.

Her gambit had worked.

Hermione grinned smugly and took careful aim.

Ginny’s stare of defiance only made it more delicious.

“Titillando”

“No—”

That was all that Ginny could get out before her verbal communication was reduced to uncontrollable giggling.

“You— bitch— I’ll get— you— back.”

Hermione was cruel but she wasn’t sadistic. A quick tickle hex was fun, but letting it stick was a true way to torture someone. She dismissed the spell, but was ready for Ginny’s counter attack. She sensed that a bat bogey was in her future.

As expected, Ginny pulled back for an aggressive attack.

“Time!”

In an unusual turn, Hermione was actually relieved to hear Ceannara’s voice announcing the end of their paid session.

“This is _not_ over, Granger.”

But at least it was over for now. And for now, Hermione had won.

~ diffindo ~

Ginny fumed. She knew she was fuming, but she couldn’t seem to do anything to stop it. As she changed from her gym attire into her normal clothes, she couldn’t shake her frustration. She didn’t like to lose. And she would’ve wiped that smug look off Hermione’s face if she’d had a moment more.

But on another level she knew that this was—ultimately—for the best. Hermione needed confidence even if it came at Ginny’s expense.

And Ginny was distracted. She’d known that Harry was coming for a few days now, but it wasn’t until yesterday when his arrival became imminent that she’d totally lost all sense of centre. She needed to make a choice. Harry’s failure to arrive last night had been a godsend. And the opportunity to slip out early in the morning had been even more so.

But she was delaying the inevitable.

There was a fork in the road. From what Hermione had said about Harry’s conversation at the reading of Dumbledore’s will, Harry had nearly started a relationship with—of all people—Susan Bones. She wasn’t sure what this meant about Harry or about what he was looking for, but it did mean this... Harry Potter was on the market.

Ginny knew she wanted him. She always had, but now it was different. She hadn’t been ready, but now she was. But would he want her, or would he just see the little obsessed girl that had cried on platform nine and three-quarters as her storybook love had receded into the distance?

The truth was that there was a fork in the road, but Ginny had long ago chosen her path. She was not one to waver.

~ diffindo ~

Ginny felt so gross. Her workout with Hermione had left her the epitome of unappealing. So she had drafted Hermione as a distraction for Harry while she ran up the back stairs to make for the shower. That had worked, but it meant the Hermione knew more than she intended.

Now safely ensconced within the shower, Ginny let her thoughts flow off of her like the drops of water that blazed paths down her naked skin. The cascade quickly displaced the sweat leaving her feeling fresh. And the gentle lather of soap left her smelling clean.

She briefly let herself imagine that he was here moving the cloth up and down her body. Caressing her various parts. Breathing in the clean scent of her skin.

But not too much. Ginny didn’t claim to be ladylike but she wasn’t a slut either.

As she turned off the tap, she anticipated the possible embarrassment. He might not want this—want her—and she could handle awkward. Awkward might even be cute, but what she feared was that he would be gentle and kind and understanding... and still reject her.

Harry didn’t date.

There was Cho, but honestly, what did anyone think that was but a rebound from Cedric. It was cruel what Cho did—using Harry as some kind of proxy to work through her grief—a tool to be used and then discarded when no longer needed. But she wasn’t anything like Cho. She looked different, talked different, acted different—except Quidditch—so at least there was that.

Ginny towelled off quickly. It wouldn’t do to stay too long in the humid air and work up another sweat. She realized with some disappointment that she hadn’t really thought about her hair. It would still be wet, and while there was a spell to dry things she couldn’t bring herself to use more magic. She was exhausted already.

Well if that was how it was going to be then she would just leave it down. Wasn’t an approaching form glistening with moisture one of those male fantasies?

Ginny hurried to her room with nothing more than her towel around her. With Harry in the house she was going to have to stop doing that, but habits were hard to break.

She kicked her door closed and then began to examine the conundrum that was her wardrobe. What would he want her to wear? She had options: simple, sporty, nice, classy... She even had that tight outfit that Michael had bought for her, but it was a little more revealing than she was going for. Not a slut.

Ginny was overthinking this. She knew Harry well enough to know that he probably wouldn’t remember what she was wearing. And he wouldn’t want her to obsess about her appearance.

She took a couple more minutes considering which of the tops best gave off the message ‘I don’t obsess about my appearance’ before her mind collapsed from the absurdity.

~ diffindo ~

Harry had been in the front room reading the Prophet when he heard his friends return. But by the time he got up, Ginny was already up the stairs and Hermione came into the room grinning like someone had struck her with a confundus.

He’d hoped she’d be glad to see him, and he returned the feelings without restraint. She’d hugged him and the feel of her embrace soothed his anxiety. If this was the Hermione that Ginny had felt was in danger, then Harry still wasn’t seeing it.

“I’m... I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner.”

“No, Harry, I totally understand why you had to do what you needed to do.”

“I don’t think Ginny agrees with you.”

In response Hermione blushed a deep red which confounded Harry’s understanding.

“I think it’ll be okay, Harry. You said you’d tell me more about the hearings?”

She was changing the subject, but maybe it was time to talk about it. A deep sigh escaped Harry before he began to explain the entire sad affair right up to Lady Bones’ eleventh hour intervention. He even told her more about Susan... but he left out the White Wyvern and the subsequent evening. It didn’t seem like something she would approve of.

After speaking for some time, they sat down to wait for Ginny and Hermione stuck her nose in a book—her natural state—and Harry had retreated into his thoughts. But... Hermione kept glancing up with rather silly grin similar to that she had worn when she arrived.

And she was still doing it.

“Okay. What is it? You’re thinking about something. Is my hair unruly or something?”

She laughed nervously. His hair was always unruly.

“Nope— Nothing— I’m just going to read my book here. And we’ll wait for Ginny.”

Hermione wasn’t duplicitous by nature, so whatever this was made Harry nervous. She was always talking about something and ‘waiting for Ginny’ would be the perfect opportunity for her to expound upon her infatuation of the week. And Ginny had said that Hermione had been moping and despondent. This wasn’t that.

Finally, he heard someone coming down the back stairs. Ginny appeared at the archway. She had an odd presence about her. She was always a determined person, but there was a relaxed anticipatory resolve in her eyes.

Harry was startled as Hermione clapped her book shut and stood up.

“I’m going to see if I can find my copy of Modern Magical History.”

Hermione looked to Ginny and then back to Harry.

“Yep. I’ll just go find that.”

His heart raced as her awkward departure drew into sharp relief his aloneness with Ginny. The air he breathed was thick. She approached through the dense tension and—rather than taking his hand or maintaining any personal space whatsoever—she placed her hands on his shoulders like they were going to dance.

Her eyes smouldered with what Harry could only describe as desirous mischief. He’d prepared for her to be angry—begrudging. He’d left. But her right hand lifted up behind his neck and pulled him forward and down into her lips. They were soft and wet.

She’d shattered all his expectations. It would be arrogant to say he saw it coming just now, so perhaps it would be better to say he’d hoped. When she’d appeared in the doorway, he’d dared to hope. His mind wanted to be conflicted but the adrenaline driving his heart drowned out the complaint.

He joined and deepened the kiss—let it linger.

She invited his tongue inside with hers and Harry got his first real taste of Ginevra Weasley.

She tasted good. Like the first taste of your favourite food. Like a scent that brings back your childhood and then flees like youth. Like two saplings managing to grow together without choking each other—twined together but each separate and infinitely precious.

This was summed up in Harry’s adolescent mind as follows.

‘Whoa!’

Ginny pulled away and he regretfully consented noticing that he’d become slightly light-headed. He stared into her eyes. His mind emptied. He had no words for the new chapter that she had unexpectedly opened with her lips.

As the pregnant pause measured itself in pairs of deep breaths, Harry realized he had no idea what to do now. His face was slack because he had no concept of what expression to place there. He knew that she had served and it was his turn to volley. He was stuck. How could he accept her offering?

Ginny for her part was lost in the same irresolution. The tension rose until it was unbearable. He was going to screw this up.

Her eyes shot wide open as though she had just awoken in someone else’s body. She turned and then was fleeing back the way she had come. He had only seen her like that in his first and second years. His breath wouldn’t come to him.

Not a word had passed between them and yet something—perhaps the most important something—had been said.

~ diffindo ~

Ron lay motionless in his hospital bed. Little ever changed. Each day that Molly visited he would appear to have moved slightly. She liked to imagine that he was waking in the night. She had even left him notes early on as though he would read them in secret when no one was watching.

But she knew that St. Mungo’s staff were caring for him each day and that meant changing his position to prevent sores. Her eyes burned at the thought of her youngest son in such a state of being.

Molly was losing all her children. One at a time—or two in the case of the twins—they were finding their place in the world. But not Ron. He was stuck here.

She hadn’t even known that Hermione and Ron were together. And still, he had felt the need to pay limb and—god forbid—his life to save her. It was an honourable act worthy of his name, but he was so young to be making such choices.

Hermione had always seemed to act with solid judgement. But in this case she had done wrong. Her heart had hardened against her. Not that Molly hadn’t been very kind to her. It wouldn’t do to be to judgemental, but neither young Harry nor Hermione had truly ever acknowledged Ron. It had always been him following them.

Molly had to face it. Harry and Hermione were a dangerous influence. They always had been. But for some reason she had thought that the good Lord would watch over her family as he had during the wizarding war.

And now the two of them were under her roof with her last little one. Her baby. They would not take her. She would not allow it. She could see how Ginny looked at him. She would protect her baby. No one could fault her that.

But Molly felt utterly alone. She couldn’t share these feelings... not even with Arthur. He adored Harry and would never see through Hermione’s competent veneer to the selfish centre that had manipulated their youngest son into a hospital bed.

And here he lay—in that bed—just in front of her.

This wouldn’t happen to her Ginny.

~ diffindo ~

“But he must have said something?!”

Hermione could not believe that Harry wouldn’t have said something to Ginny. He wasn’t one for talking about feelings, but he couldn’t be that inept. Could he?

“Nothing! And then like some scared little girl I ran out of the room.”

Ginny dropped her face into her palms.

“Oh, god. He must think I’m so immature.”

No, there was no way that Harry would think that. Hermione had seen the looks Harry had given Ginny when he thought no one was watching. Hermione smiled inwardly. Sometimes it was convenient to be a wallflower.

“Maybe you broke him. Maybe it was so gob-smacking spectacular that his mind shut down.”

Ginny scowled at her.

“Come on, Hermione. I need you to be real with me. I royally cocked it up.”

“No, you didn’t. Look, it was always going to be awkward. And now you can talk it over at lunch. Harry said he was going to cook since your Mum wasn’t planning to be back in time. I’ll give you guys some space and you can talk it out.”

Ginny wheeled on her with a face full of fear and anger.

“No! You’re not going anywhere. This is partially your fault! ... I don’t know exactly how. But we’re going to pretend that this never happened and you are going to help and maybe then I won’t have to be horrified for the rest of my life.”

“Ginny...”

“No. No. I— You are _not_ to mention it.”

She had never seen Ginny act this way. Even when she had broken up—quite publicly—with her former boyfriends. She had always seemed in control of her relationships.

“Okay. I’m not going to push you into anything, but...”

“What?!”

Hermione paused—taken aback for a moment. Ginny often reminded her of Harry. The raw intensity with which she confronted the world could be wondrous, but it was also terrifying. She was only trying to help.

“I just... wanted to say that it took a long time for things to happen with Ron. I would pay almost any price to get that time back.”

Ginny rolled her eyes which hurt Hermione’s feelings. She wasn’t wallowing—not this time. This was good advice and Ginny needed to hear it. Hermione felt the rise of her ire and couldn’t keep herself from throwing back some snark.

“Look. It’s your life to botch up the way you want.”

~ diffindo ~

‘Hey, lunch is ready.’

‘Okay, thanks.’

Ginny scratched her head. That had been the extent of the conversation when she had come down to the kitchen to eat lunch. There had been a few awkward glances, but it looked like Harry was going along with the plan.

They were just going to act like nothing had happened.

Ginny resented Harry for this despite the fact that it was exactly what she wanted.

Hermione was still pouting into a book. It wasn’t like Ron and Hermione were such a great example of a functional relationship anyway. She mustn’t continue to tie everything back to her pain. It was just a waste of time and a poor way forward.

They’d eaten in silence for most of lunch. Even Dad had been driven away by the unbearable climate of the room. When he’d come in from the shed. he’d taken one look at the trio of surly tense teenagers and immediately walked back outside.

Coward.

Ginny took a deep breath. As angry as she was with Hermione for her constant self-centred despair, she didn’t want her dwelling on Ron again.

So... a couple weeks ago, Ginny had begun cataloguing possible conversation topics to keep Hermione distracted. This was necessary because Ginny wasn’t one for words. 

She pulled out a topic she knew would get Hermione talking.

“Harry, do you really have a seat in the Wizengamot? Your parents had one?”

Hermione put her book down clearly interested in his answer. Good. Hopefully this would also keep Harry busy and dispel the angst in the air.

“Apparently. Though any time someone mentions it, they seem to add that it isn’t very powerful. Lady Longbottom said that it didn’t control many votes. Do some people really get to vote multiple times?”

Ginny almost smiled as Hermione tried to suppress her natural smug face. She’d gotten pretty good at hiding it over the years. According to Ron, she’d been insufferable her first year.

And she wonders why people think she’s uppity.

“Yes, Harry. Each house can hold one or more seats in the Wizengamot which has had exactly 77 voting seats since the eleventh century. The number of votes can change, but it has been capped at 777 for the last two hundred years. For the most part houses trade votes here or there, but the system has been stable for a long time.”

“So one or two votes isn’t going to do any good then?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. The muggle Parliament has over fourteen hundred members who each have one vote. There’s still power in that.”

“But if Malfoy can just stoop down from on high with hundreds of votes, why would any one with just a few votes even try.”

“Well first, Harry, the house of Malfoy only has somewhere on fifty votes. The only house that has more than one hundred votes is the house of Black. It is literally the _most ancient_ extant house from the perspective of the Wizengamot.”

“But why?! Why should one house have more power?”

“I know, it doesn’t seem fair. But if you read the history of how the Wizengamot was founded, they had to offer the powerful people some reason to be subjugated to a higher law. It makes sense that they would want a greater say.”

The three were interrupted by the apparation of the twins in the next room.

“Hey Harry! — Good to see ya. — We were hoping — that you might come and see our shop — one hundred percent free of charge — to founding members of course.”

“Fred. George. Is business good, then?”

“Is business good? — Hell no, business is deceitful — conniving — exploitative. — But we happen to be really good at it.”

“Would you like some lunch?”

“Nah. We’re here to get our brooms. — Do some flying. — We aren’t beaters any more — officially — but we still like go whack the old balls sometimes. How about it? — Up for a game?”

~ diffindo ~

Ginny was riding Harry’s Firebolt. She hadn’t asked for it, but the twins and Harry had gotten to the garden first and had grabbed the family brooms leaving her with Harry’s. It was the polite thing for them to have done.

But it had also been stupid. Harry might be able to out fly her on this broom, but he wasn’t on this broom. He wasn’t even on a Cleansweep. If they thought she needed an advantage, then Ginny would disabuse them of the notion.

When Ginny had jumped at the possibility to play Quidditch, she had assumed that the oppressive atmosphere that had soaked the kitchen would not follow her. The outside air always splashed clarity on her cheeks—it woke and invigorated her—but in most ways it was worse now.

Inside the house she could avert her eyes, pretend that Harry was an abstract intelligence and not a visceral body whose lips had so briefly embraced hers. Now she had to be content with his presence. She had to be strong. Either that or admit defeat—lose.

Ginny didn’t like to lose.

She regretted it. She knew she would. And she knew that she couldn’t have done it differently. Rewind the world and play it again and the same tragedy of anxiety and embarrassment would of replay over and over.

Ginny accelerated toward her partner George—it was George, right? He had pulled the quaffle off Harry in true beater style. Despite their crude joke they weren’t playing with bludgers or a snitch, just the quaffle which was for the best because the last time the family bludgers had gotten out one of them had made a run for it.

They didn’t really behave right.

The quaffle flew into her hands and Ginny executed a roll to avoid an approaching Fred and then pulled into a steep climb. They would follow and that was the point.

They shouldn’t have let her anywhere near the Firebolt.

At the peak of her ascent she kicked off from one stirrup and let the broom spin underneath her as she spun in opposition. The two met on the other side. She wasn’t facing exactly down since the broom’s simulated inertia was still less than her own, but just to one side was perfect.

As her foot met the broom again, she poured a magical flow into the broom which obediently and efficiently accelerated her in concert with gravity.

To her competitors she must have been a blur as they met and then continued to ascend waiting on their minds to catch up to Ginny’s and then for their brooms to catch up to their minds. The field opened up in front of her and she heard George throw a taunt at Fred.

Now with a couple clear seconds Ginny was able to let her thoughts flow again.

He hadn’t said anything to her. It had been amazing for her. but for him it apparently wasn’t worth commenting on. Even if in that moment he had been at a loss for words, _he_ had to say something. And since he didn’t, she had no choice but to assume it was a rejection.

As Ginny scored a rather anticlimactic goal, she felt a moment of insight.

He doesn’t think of me as a girl.

She didn’t reject the feminine. She never had. But maybe the nexus between her and Harry had been too dominated by masculine energy. She could be girlier. She could if she tried... She could giggle at him like she didn’t have a cogent thought in her head. She could watch in feigned ignorance as he performed the ‘man’s’ duties.

Yeah... no she couldn’t.

And if that was what he wanted then he could go find a trophy. Maybe Susan wanted to live on the mantelpiece.

As Ginny returned to her side of the field to prepare for the toss in from the opposition. She caught Harry’s eyes. She let him see her anger and resentment. Maybe he didn’t like it, but Harry had to answer for the things that things that he did—even if they were only imagined in her mind.

But, God, he was gorgeous.

~ diffindo ~

Mon. 15 July

Minerva was getting annoyed with playing delivery person for Harry Potter’s mail. She should have foreseen Harry’s O.W.L. scores arriving at the Headmaster’s office. She had had no idea how directly Albus had involved himself in Harry’s affairs. It was obvious that he would want to keep track of Mr. Potter. With Voldemort’s return, young Mr. Potter was the only known entity that could defeat the Dark Lord.

In the end, Albus had found another way, but... but he had had plans for Harry. Minerva still lost sleep on occasion guessing at what those might have been. Severus had been sparse with the details that he knew.

“Ah, Minerva, will you be staying for lunch. I’m sure Molly would be happy to have you.”

“Thank you, Arthur, but no. I merely have some simple business with Mr. Potter—some mail that need be delivered.”

Arthur’s eyes lifted in comprehension.

“Of course. One moment.”

He left for the back of the home to retrieve Harry. Minerva took the short reprieve to sit and collect her thoughts. There were so few hours in her days now. The board of Hogwarts had moved fast, and some of the changes they required were... difficult.

She’d been ordered to reduce the acceptance rate of muggle-born and first generation wizards by seventy-five percent. The rolls of Hogwarts were checked each year and some adjustments had to be made, but to strike three of every four...

What would those students do?

The history of witches and wizards forcibly suppressing and denying magic was horrifying. In some ways, you simply could not run from what you were.

“Professor McGonagall.”

Harry had caught her ruminating. She chastised herself for showing a lack of focus to her student.

“Well met, Mr. Potter. It would seem that I am to be your mail carrier for the foreseeable future. As you now know, your mail has been coming through my office, and I have received your O.W.L. returns.”

Minerva was startled by a shriek of glee from the kitchen followed by the sound of hurried footsteps. Hermione came around the corner.

“Oh, Harry! How exciting!”

Harry rolled his eyes in a good natured rib directed at his best friend. Minerva would have taken vicarious humour in it, but she always found too much of herself in her top-of-the-class pupil.

“Miss Granger.”

“Oh, sorry. Greetings, Professor.”

“Well met, dear. But I cannot indulge in sedentarism. I still have to find you all a new head of house. Regretfully I cannot fulfil that position while holding the office of headteacher.”

Minerva waved off their eager inquiries.

“No, no. I could not tell you now even if knew who it would be. You will just have to wait until the opening feast. I will gladly announce it then... to everybody.”

~ diffindo ~

After the professor had left them, Harry had tried to delay opening his scores. Hermione knew that he was surely nervous. Harry had often discussed his desire to become an Auror—to serve and protect. And he would need certain scores to attain that.

So, in short, Hermione wasn’t having any of it.

“No, Harry, you are going to open them right now. There is no reason to wait. They aren’t going to change. So why are you delaying?”

Also, she just _really_ wanted to know.

“Hermione, if you really want to know, why don’t you open them?”

Harry handed the envelope to her in a surly huff and turned to leave. She wasn’t going to accept his cold shoulder.

“Harry. Harry! HARRY, stop it!”

He turned to her with sudden accusing anger in his eyes.

“Harry, don’t you care how you did? It affects everything. You’ll only have access to high-level courses and thus future employment entirely based on the contents of this envelope.”

He looked at her like she said something disgusting. Like he couldn’t stand her. It hurt her.

“I don’t care any more Hermione. It’s not as if Snape— I don’t even know if I want to be an Auror any more. I’m supposed to be dead, Hermione. I wasn’t supposed to need to worry about a career. I... I have choices now. I’m not used to these kind of choices. I just want more time.”

“How much time do you think you have? Because I’m sure Ron thought he had plenty of time to figure out his future.”

Harry’s outburst was unexpected.

“Ron’s not _dead_ , Hermione! You only speak of him in the past tense. He’s alive and for all we know he’ll walk into the great hall right as rain in September.”

Harry was right. It revolted Hermione to realize the truth of it, but he was right. She kept thinking and talking like Ron wasn’t going to get better. Why would she do that? She felt her stomach lurch at the wrongness of it.

“You’re right, Harry, I’m sorry.”

He turned again to leave.

“About Ron, Harry—you’re right about Ron. But you’re completely wrong about these scores. If you want time to think about you’re future, do it in the knowledge of what you have available. Please, Harry. You don’t have to show them to me, but please, at least look at the scores yourself.”

Harry didn’t turn back around. He simply held out his hand and Hermione deposited the offending parcel back into his grasp. He started to walk toward the back stairs opening the scores as he went.

Hermione _was_ disappointed. She’d wanted to know.

“No way!”

She heard him exclaim from the kitchen. He came back around the corner.

“Exceeds Expectations, Hermione. I got an ‘E’.”

His mood had sure turned around fast.

“In what, Harry?”

“In Potions. How? I didn’t think Professor Snape would allow that.”

If Hermione had been in one of the childhood cartoons she’d loved as a young child, she would have seen a brilliant bulb appear over her head. Harry didn’t understand how O.W.L.’s worked.

“Harry, your Potions O.W.L. was scored by Ministry officials from the Division for Magical Education specifically the Wizarding Examinations Authority. Professor Snape had no say in what score you received.”

The look on Harry’s face was one of shock. He handed the paper over to her and she looked over his other scores quickly. He’d done well actually—slightly better than Ron.

“I just thought... So I can... I can still be an Auror?”

Hermione felt her heart clench. Sometimes she hated being so prepared for everything. Professor Snape did not allow students of lesser gradings into his N.E.W.T. level courses and Potions was a cornerstone of Auror training.

“No, Harry. Professor Snape only excepts Outstanding O.W.L.’s into his N.E.W.T. program. I’m sorry, Harry.”

“Oh. Okay.”

The fall of his facial expression tore at her. She was about to launch into her spiel on Harry’s other options—which she had worked out of course—when Ginny came in from the garden.

~ diffindo ~

“I was thinking we could visit the twins new shop later today. Do you guys...”

Ginny allowed her sentence to trail off when one look at Hermione and Harry told her something was up.

“So... what’s up?”

“Harry got his O.W.L.’s back. He did better than he thought.”

Ginny didn’t like to think about Ordinary Wizarding Levels. She had to prepare for those this upcoming year and it looked like torture. And how was she suppose to know what she wanted to do when she graduated? 

“Oh, that’s great news, Harry. Have you selected your N.E.W.T.’s?”

“No, I just haven’t thought about it at all.”

“I’m sure Hermione has some ideas. Right?”

Ginny saw her brighten up, so she did have plans for Harry. Of course she did.

“Well, I do have some thoughts. For example, Harry, I assume that you’ll keep on in Defence since that’s your best subject, and given what you have available you’ll want at least three N.E.W.T.’s. I would probably suggest Charms and Herbology. And I might suggest dropping Transfiguration in favour of a handful of non-N.E.W.T. courses. For example, you could take Arithmancy and Apparition and still have time to stay in Magical Creatures. Though McGonagall might never forgive you if you did.”

Ginny smiled as she saw the real Hermione come out to play for a while. She wondered at exactly how her friend kept all of the information straight in her head. But Ginny frowned as she realized that Hermione was wrong.

“But, Hermione, Harry will need five N.E.W.T.’s including Potions to qualify for the Ministry Auror Cadet program.”

From the look that Harry and Hermione exchanged, Ginny knew that she had missed something critical.

“You do still want to be Auror, Harry. Right?”

The sad look that came over Harry’s face was tragic. Harry had spoken of being an Auror from Merlin-knows-when.

“I can’t. I only got an ‘E’ in Potions and Professor Snape will only accept ‘O’ students.”

“But I remember McGonagall saying the N.E.W.T. courses were open to Exceeds Expectations and above. She made a rather big fuss about it and about how our O.W.L.’s mean everything.”

Ginny looked to Hermione for confirmation.

“That’s for Professor McGonagall’s N.E.W.T. course and most of the other professors are the same. But Professor Snape can and does set a higher standard.”

That was unjust. It was unfair. He couldn’t do that. After all the heat that Snape had heaped upon him for five years and with Harry still getting Exceeds Expectations... it wasn’t right that one evil professor could prevent him from fulfilling his dreams.

“That’s totally unfair. Harry, Professor McGonagall is headmistress now. Go to her and make her fix this.”

“Ginny, it’s okay. I don’t even know if I really want to become an Auror at all. Maybe this is just a sign that I should look for a new direction.”

She was shocked. She couldn’t believe that Harry would just give up this way.

“You seem to be running away from a lot nowadays.”

And Ginny walked back to her room unable to sort out exactly what she had meant by that.

~ diffindo ~

“Harry! — Welcome to our patron — our benefactor — a true saint. — Consider everything free of charge — complimentary.”

As Harry greeted the twins, Hermione tried not to resent Ginny. She knew full well that Ginny was trying to cheer her up and distract her. It was nice, but rather annoying because it was working. The shop had so many interesting titbits of magic that she wanted to explore.

She looked around at all of the displays stopping momentarily at the love potions. It didn’t seem responsible to be selling these. Think of the damage that could be done by someone with mal-intent.

The virgin heart careened towards love without considering the risks. No one sold a potion to get rid of love—though some concoctions existed. No, the love that sold was empty and gilded. The real love—complete with its impurities—wouldn’t garner any kind of price.

Hermione couldn’t stay here among bright and happy people, but she didn’t want Ginny to see her escape. She worked her her way to one of the front displays—the one that displayed the skiving snackboxes. She checked furtively that Ginny was occupied talking with Katie Bell and then slipped out the door.

She just couldn’t be surrounded by all that chaos—not now. Hermione needed the familiar—the comfortable—the safe. She stopped in front of a window filled with her favourite comfort objects. She just needed a few moments to think.

Hermione opened the doors of Flourish and Blotts and as she stepped over the threshold the pleasant smell of slightly dusty books calmed her turbulent emotions.

She nestled herself in the ancient runes section and pulled a copy of Advanced Runic Syntax off the shelf and opened the book to peruse it. But her tumbling synapses wouldn’t let her focus on it. She couldn’t settle into the rhythm and relaxation of reading that normally came so naturally to her.

Harry had been right. She’d been thinking of Ron as though he was dead. Is that what she really believed? Had she abandoned him so easily? Hermione was idealistic by nature and pragmatic by experience. Ron was in bad shape and no complex system ever remained static. If he didn’t recover, then he would eventually deteriorate—die—Ron would die.

But, no. Just no. That was an absurd thing to assume. He had the best care the magical alcoves could offer.

But still.

Hermione didn’t worry about herself. No, it would destroy Harry if Ronald died. Harry blamed himself just as Hermione blamed herself. She couldn’t let him fall that way. Harry’s life had had too much darkness.

Ron wouldn’t die. He couldn’t.

~ diffindo ~

Hermione was missing. Ginny didn’t know how long she’d been gone, but she’d been talking with Katie about the advantages and disadvantages of a back handed broom grip, and when she turned back Hermione had been gone.

Ginny’s frustration smouldered, but more than that she worried. She worried that Hermione was putting on a front for Harry.

Harry...

No, she must stay focused. The entire purpose of visiting the shop was to force Hermione into the presence of happy enthusiastic people. And now, presented with that opportunity, she’d simply disappeared.

She was going to have to talk to Harry about it. But that was awkward— _everything_ between them was now. It seemed like a field simply chock full of what Luna would describe as Wrackspurts. Ginny smirked at the image of patrons to the store unwittingly walking through a physical manifestation of awkwardness, being confused for a moment, and then moving on.

At least _they_ got to move on.

No, she’d wanted Harry to visit specifically to see Hermione and to cheer her up, and now Ginny had gone and made that more difficult by selfishly thinking of herself. She shouldn’t have lost her mind over the whole Susan Bones thing. It sounded like it had ended badly. Ginny should have left it alone until Hermione was in better shape.

Ginny shook off her inertia and dove into the field of Wrackspurts as she crossed the room. It got easier once she was moving. Having a purpose and direction had always been a ready antidote for her problems.

Harry was talking with Dean Thomas. Great. If someone made Ginny feel like she had Wrackspurts and it wasn’t Harry, it was Dean.

She took a deep breath made the last few steps.

“Harry?”

When he turned to her, she saw the nervous look of fear quickly replaced by a polite smile. Ginny returned the artificial sentiment finding it almost painful to do so.

“Oh, hi. I was just talking to Dean about his classes next year.”

“Cool. Have you seen Hermione? I can’t seem to find her anywhere.”

Harry pointed across the shop.

“Oh, I saw her over there by the love potions, next to the...”

Next to the door. He was going to say next to the door. Damn it, Hermione!

Ginny shared a look of understanding with Harry and then they both started talking at once.

“I think you should...”

“I think you should...”

And then they simultaneously stopped talking. The lengthy pause swelled. Why had she kissed him?

“Harry, I think you should go. She’s heard enough from me.”

“But I don’t even know where she went. Do you?”

The look Ginny gave Harry was priceless and Dean burst out laughing at it.

“Harry, mate, I think we all can guess where Hermione would go. There’s only like three books stores. Start with the F.A.B. and work your way down.”

Ginny smiled genuinely at Dean. She’d watched him during the D.A. and she liked what she saw. Maybe if Harry continued to be a git, Ginny would see if Dean had something to say about her snogging.

“Yeah, okay. Ginny, do you need us to come back and get you. I suspect Hermione may not want to come back.”

“Harry, I swear, do you think I’m so feeble I can’t get home from my own brothers’ shop? Merlin!”

And Ginny turned back towards Katie Bell. On a positive note, it had seemed a little less awkward at the end then at the start. On a negative note, Harry was still a complete git.

~ diffindo ~

“Hermione?”

He could see her sitting in the reading chair at the end of a row of bookcases. She was staring at her book, but she hadn’t turned a page since Harry spotted her shortly after entering the store. And knowing how fast Hermione read, she certainly wasn’t reading.

“Hermione?”

She turned around slightly startled.

“Oh, Harry. Hi. I’m sorry, I just—”

“You’ve just had enough of Ginny trying to force cheeriness on you and you wanted to get away to a safe place.”

“I— yeah. How did you find me?”

Harry gave her the same look Ginny had given him which produced a mirthful sigh from his best friend.

“Yeah, okay. Never mind.”

“It’s okay. You know she only does it because she’s worried about you.”

“She doesn’t need to be. I can clean up my own messes.”

He wasn’t sure what Hermione meant by that. Harry sat down on the floor facing her.

“You know, he could have been hurt just as badly if he’d been with me instead of you. I— it was a stupid thing to say. You’re a better witch than I’ve ever been a wizard.”

Hermione shook her head and he saw her eyes begin to glisten.

“You don’t understand, Harry. I could have protected myself, not left myself open. But that’s not the real issue. He threw himself in front of that curse because of our relationship. He did it because we were in love. And it made him stupid. And that’s my fault.”

What?

“You can’t possibly believe that your responsible for all the things that people do because they love you. You can’t control that.”

“I could’ve not encouraged him. Then maybe he would’ve been more careful.”

“You just chewed me out for wasting time on my O.W.L. scores. If that’s wasting time and if you had something real with Ron—and you did, if I could see it as blind as I am, then you did—then pushing Ron away would have been a much greater crime.”

“Harry... I can’t. I can’t stop thinking it’s my fault.”

Harry pushed up into a kneeling position and gave his friend a hug.

“I know, Hermione, me too.”

“How do I move on?”

This time it was Harry’s turn to shake his head.

“I don’t know Hermione, but the world keeps going. It won’t stop for me or for you or even for him. I...”

He looked into her eyes which asked for an answer that he didn’t have.

“I don’t know, but we just have to keep going.”

“I can’t do it, Harry. I don’t understand how you can. How can I care about anything else when I’ve already destroyed everything? I...”

She turned her eyes to her lap and her voice dropped to not but a whisper.

“I know it would be better for everyone if I just wasn’t around any more. I don’t have anything to offer anyone.”

Hermione never saw the look of horror that climbed onto Harry’s face. Those words, they sounded suicidal.

“Hermione, don’t... don’t you think that way. Somewhere, deep down, I think you know that’s not true. You have more to offer than any other individual at school. Your parents love you. Your friends—.”

A edge of malice entered Hermione’s voice.

“You’ve never met my parents, Harry. Maybe I’m just tired of offering things to others all the time...”

She still wasn’t looking at him. He didn’t know what to say. This wasn’t okay. He couldn’t very well leave her alone.

“Just leave me alone, Harry. You don’t honestly believe I’m going to kill myself. I’m tougher than that.”

Harry had been here before. Not exactly here, but close enough. Her words were hollow and they held no confidence, but they were an absolution. He could leave and it wouldn’t be his fault. He could pretend to not know and no one would have any idea that he had been in a position to help.

It was kind. He should bravely reject that kindness. Godric Gryffindor would have rejected that kindness, but Harry now found himself a coward.

~ diffindo ~

She had followed his commands to the letter. She knew her duty and she stalked it with diligence. That arrogant little bumblebee had crushed her master’s new body with impudence and the pest had paid the commensurate price. But the Lord could not be vanquished so easily. Death was no match for the Lord.

The snake.

She was to protect the snake. She’d lain low as he had instructed making sure that no one was tracking her as she pursued her precious target. She’d get Nagini and make it to the graveyard and he would be restored again according to his plan. Reborn anew like a phoenix from the ashes. There was the matter of Harry Potter’s blood to be contended with. The Lord was unknowably wise in his decision to allow the young heathen to escape. He’d undoubtedly foreseen this circumstance.

Bellatrix Lestrange was dauntless. She’d only killed four on her way to the house of Riddle. She was of course merciful. It was wrong to torture animals, and muggles were little more.

Now wizards—wizards had the responsibility of their higher capacity and if they would not offer allegiance to the inescapably supreme Lord willingly, then they would be made so to do. They had a choice. They could choose and if they chose wrong then the necessary punishment was required. Pain was the most effective form of instruction.

The iron gate guarding the grounds of the Riddle House exploded inward with not but a twitch of her magic. The hinges screamed their rusty protest and the bars clanged as they slammed into the gateposts on either side. Bellatrix cackled her delight as she wielded her power over nature.

Bellatrix moved silently, almost motionlessly, up the path approaching the manor. She frowned briefly at the realization that she would again need to permit the presence of Wormtail whose name was fully and justly deserved. She reflected with some consolation that if he bothered her sufficiently she could just kill him. That put the smile back on her face.

As she stepped into the foyer, Bella knew something was off. Wormtail avoided the snake and thus the study—weakling. But he always kept the fire stoked to keep Nagini warm, yet the threshold looked cold and dark.

Bella directed magic into her feet and felt the pressure of the floor fall away. She hovered slowly up the stairs maintaining the element of surprise. The door was open. It should not be. Open doors were good for open ears. And it let the heat out which the reptile would need.

A shiver of excitement ran down her spine as she saw the oozing blood that pooled just inside the door. If Nagini had finally killed Wormtail, then Bella would feel no loss.

She gasped as she came around the door frame and the form of the deceased came into view. It was not possible. Nagini—the great snake and the Lord’s familiar—more familiar than any other wizard’s or witch’s could be—was lying in a death repose utterly motionless. Bella felt for the magic that emanated from the Lord’s pillars of eternity but could find nothing.

A knife had been run from tail to head. The line was straight and careful and little of the blood had spattered. The wound was post mortem.

She began to panic. If Nagini was vulnerable, then how many of the other pillars were vulnerable? How many had already been lost?

The cup.

It was still in the vault, and no one had been in that vault for years. She had to get the cup.

And kill Wormtail.

This betrayal was exactly in his nature. She’d warned the Lord of his untrustworthiness, but the Lord had his plan and his understanding. The sign of her righteousness burned along her left arm in protest at her failure to perform her duty. It was all in his plan.

Get the cup.

Kill the rat.


	2. Grey Faced

# GREY FACED

[misericordiam.net](http://misericordiam.net)

Tue. 16 July

“Well, Director, I’m not sure as exactly what to tell you. Why don’t you start from the top again.”

Director Bones sighed visibly before launching into the story as she remembered it which wasn’t particularly great—and that was the problem.

“I left the meeting with Kingsley at seventeen-thirty. We’d just finished discussing how valuable I found him and that I was sorry that his promotion hadn’t worked out. I went by the Leaky Cauldron to ask Tom... something... it’s— it’s right there, but I can’t grasp it. And then I left... I’m sure of it. But then... nothing...”

“Nothing until you woke up completely arseholed in the back of the Cauldron.”

Amelia was not immune to getting drunk on occasion. She’d gone a bender after that whole debacle with Harry in the Wizengamot. But she would _never_ do that on duty. Ever.

“But, Alastor... the signal.”

“You bit your cheek. If I had a galleon for every time someone bit their cheek or tongue when they were pissed.”

“Alastor... I don’t drink on duty. And my memory is excellent.”

“Fine. I’ll check you over again.”

Amelia opened her mental shields and allowed Alastor free access—mostly. She could feel his mind touching hers ever so lightly. It was like a stranger was running their hand up her arm millimetres from the skin touching only the hairs. It felt at once intimate and skeevy. But she submitted to it since the alternative was untenable.

After several minutes the caressing fingers finally retreated from her mind.

“There’s nothing there, Director. If someone modified your memory, they are better than Shacklebolt. He’s our best and I have yet to meet a mind he’s modified that I couldn’t detect. Face it, you went out on the piss.”

She hadn’t gone ‘out on the piss’, but Amelia didn’t know what _had_ happened either. It unnerved her more than anything else. Her mind was her purpose and her ability. Without it she was nothing.

Who had done it?

How did they do it?

And, most importantly, why?

~ diffindo ~

Molly tended her vegetable garden well. Her newest plants were the carrots and beans she’d planted in June. It was important to tend the seedlings lest they be choked by weeds that took root unbidden and ultimately unwelcome. She grasped a particularly pretty bluebell that was sprouting out of a row of cabbages.

She couldn’t shake the similarity to her protective feelings for her only daughter. She’d had a long think after her tumultuous emotions had subsided in the wake of her visit to Ronald. It wasn’t the first time—and surely wouldn’t be the last—that her mothering instincts threatened to overtake her.

It wasn’t Hermione’s fault. It wasn’t even Harry’s fault—though a lorry could drive through the holes in his judgement. She thought back to Hermione’s words as she lectured her parents.

‘It was war... lots of people died. They actually died. War doesn’t spare the weak or cowardly. War doesn’t respect anything except power.’

Those words weren’t intelligence. They weren’t wisdom. Those words rose from pain—the pain of experience. It far outstripped her years. Hermione should not know these things.

Molly shook her head and warded off the sadness that sought to immerse her. So many children had had their childhoods crushed and in such a short period.

But Ronald hadn’t even told her they were serious. He’d written her a couple of times about Hermione in ways that made her suspect his interest. But she could read the depth of their bond in Hermione’s behaviour.

Lord, it was probably physical. The muggles had such a callow outlook on love and responsibility. At least the poor girl wasn’t pregnant.

Molly felt a twinge of shame at that recollection. She shouldn’t have, but it mattered far too much to be unsure. She had cast a bewitched sleep upon Hermione—and Ginny too, to be fair. It was a simple spell to know whether one was up the flue. It wasn’t right to cast magicks without consent, but it had been important.

If she were pregnant, then there would be no opportunity for a shotgun wedding. With Ronald sick and unconscious, it was a real threat to the girl’s reputation. And even then... Molly wasn’t sure she could stomach allowing her son to marry the mother of a bastard child.

God—she again prayed for his forgiveness—for it had been an uncharitable line of thought. She didn’t even know if Hermione and her Ron had crossed that boundary.

Molly yanked and the beautiful flower was deprived of it’s source of nutrition, but unlike all the other weeds she couldn’t bring herself to just throw it aside. It didn’t belong here. It was dangerous here. It would only hurt those around it if it were left here. It was her responsibility to remove it to protect those that belonged.

But it deserved a place. She would pot it, give it care, and see what beauty it bore.

~ diffindo ~

Wed. 17 July

The wings of pumpkin, vermilion, and crimson bled slightly into the twilight sky painted in subtle shades of prussian blue. The bird’s beak cocked slightly sideways as though to say ‘I see you.’ His downward pitch indicated a slow relaxed descent. The ground was nowhere to be seen.

Still, something was missing.

The avian form looked lonely. He comforted the viewer with his presence, but was utterly isolated from them. He was tired with nowhere in sight to land. The skyscape spoke of tragedy instead of hope.

There was an empty space above and to the left of the bird on the canvas. It was sitting there as though waiting to manifest a purpose already reserved for it. He needed a place of respite—not a home though—this soul had no home.

Millicent loaded a clean brush with deep brown and stroked out a small island floating in the sky dripping small clumps of dirt into the unseen below. She added a little black to deepen the brown further and drew a crooked and dead tree on the island—not at the edge, but somewhat off centre. With another brush she built a bold forest green and added a dappling of bushy plants jutting just out of the soil.

It wasn’t a home, but it was a place of rest.

Millicent set her brush down, stepped back, and surveyed the image of her imagined avatar. He spoke to her soul in a way that no natural manifestation of nature ever had. He was unusual, strong but vulnerable, loyal but alone.

No one knew him just as no one knew the true Millicent. They only knew the shell—the mask. They knew _her._

It was getting harder to sleep at night. The stresses were redoubling. The nightmares plagued the dreams that visited every evening. Her family would never understand. The art was all that was left and the summer was waning. 

She would return to Hogwarts where she would mount the stage in her expected role—become the intimidating bodyguard Slytherin. The ugly hag. It wasn’t her fault. This was not what she was supposed to be.

The bird’s wings had been shackled at birth and now bore the invisible chains that none but death would unlock. His wish was to be free and flying through a sky of blue even if it meant being alone.

Even if it meant having no home.

Millicent turned to leave her canvas behind. As she opened her bedroom door, she prepared herself to also leave the truth behind and instead face a reality that didn’t care about truth.

The aged grain of the stairs in the Bulstrode home creaked loudly as she descended reminding her of why she would always be an outcast among her dormmates. She would be useful—and used—but never invited into the circle of disingenuous beauty.

“Is that you Millie?”

Mother was calling from the kitchen. Millicent hated that name and while her mother used it without malice her brother would taunt her with it regularly.

She stopped just inside the threshold of her mother’s domain.

“Yes, Mother.”

Her mother was washing dishes. She always took such pride in handling the tasks of the home without recourse to the expediency of her magic. She worked hard and Millicent respected her greatly for that, but Millicent could never _be_ that. The Bulstrode manor was little more than a very large and very expensive cage.

“Your brother’s confirmation has been scheduled for next Sunday—not this upcoming, but the one following. It’ll be the twenty-eighth.”

Millicent groaned at the prospect of being forced to attend mass. She belonged in the pew no more than a bird belonged in a cage. It was a place of shame and accusation.

“I want none of your surly attitude. I expect you to attend. You may appreciate your apostasy, but I do not. He deserves your presence. And maybe you’ll find time to enter into confession. How long has it been, Millie? Months? Your burden of sin cannot relieve itself.”

Mother knew nothing of sin. Mother knew nothing of Millicent’s demonic inner nature. Mother knew nothing of the damned and corrupted soul that found residence under her roof.

“Yes, Mother.”

~ diffindo ~

Wed. 17 July

Harry was being a coward. He was cowering from Ginny and he was cowering from what he knew was the right thing to do. He couldn’t betray Hermione by going behind her back to get help. It would destroy the trust between them and Harry didn’t think he could handle losing that at this moment.

But Ginny had called Harry specifically to come help Hermione, so she knew something of what was happening. She had seen or heard Hermione do something that made her act.

And here he was, wallowing in inaction, because he was too much the coward to face just how much he had screwed up her offering of affection—an affection he eagerly desired.

There was an impedance mismatch between his knowledge of right and his will to face it, but Harry would not dishonour his mother and father by continuing as he had done.

The thought of speaking with Ginny turned Harry’s stomach with anxiety born of shame, but he would do it for his best friend who needed him in this moment—possibly more than any moment past.

And this was why he stood outside of Ginny’s door. Hermione was working in the garden—something that Harry had no idea she had any aptitude for—so for once he would be able to get Ginny alone. Ginny and Hermione had been suspiciously close together ever since Harry had first arrived at the burrow and he was beginning to suspect there might be something to that.

But was it Ginny clinging to Hermione to ward off Harry or was it Hermione clinging to Ginny to ward off Harry or both or neither? Maybe he just couldn’t escape the self-centric view that everything depended on him even though that seemed to be true all the damned time.

He was distracting himself with his thoughts. He need to get on with it.

He knocked gently on her door.

~ diffindo ~

The knock on Ginny’s door was muffled through the silencing charm on the frame, but it did jolt her out of what she had been doing. Her finger slid in once last time almost mournfully. She had been so close. Hermione was always around her now—because Ginny wanted her there—but that meant that she hadn’t had any time to deal with her... tension.

She sat up from her bed and wiped her moist hand on an old shirt to remove the evidence of her arousal. The disappointment from just missing her climax pervaded her body with a sad lethargy.

She pulled up her black lace knickers, then her jeans. She clasped the button with a practiced pop and hopped up off her bed. She weakened the silencing spell on the door before calling back.

“Be right there.”

Ginny took another moment to slow her breathing and clear her mind of the images that had driven her arousal. She said goodbye to the idealized body image of her chosen mental lover and his aggressive but perfect touch. She straightened her shirt, walked over to the door, and gently opened it.

Then she slammed it.

Shit. It was him. She hyperventilated.

The timing was just terrible. It had gone so badly between them. And now with unfulfilled desire wracking her body, there was no way she could open that door and see the emerald eyes that burned with passion in her innermost fantasies.

Ginny stopped and slowed her breath. She was an adult—even if her mother thought she was a baby—and so she would face this as an adult.

~ diffindo ~

It was weird. But, really, it wasn’t _that_ unusual for Ginny. And Harry understood to some degree. He’d felt himself panic when her voice had called back through the door. He’d wanted to run away, but that would be childish.

So he waited for her to recover and hoped that she would come back.

And she did.

Ginny slowly opened the door a second time. Her eyes darting between him and the floor.

“Sorry, come in.”

As he stepped into her room he felt a little flush with heat and humidity. There was an odd weight to the air of the room. He felt his heart start to pace itself.

“No, I’m sorry. I should have announced myself.”

Ginny nodded slightly, accepting the truce. She was pretty, Ginny was. He hadn’t really looked at her that way very often—sometimes he had—but ever since the kiss, he’d found himself looking at the curves of her eyes and lips and... everything. Those curves were slight and gentle and her body was tight and toned. She was young, virile.

The room suddenly seemed dry. He felt himself lick his lips without thinking and he saw her eyes notice him do that. Then he was looking at _her_ lips.

Then they were looking each other in the eye again.

“Did you need something, Harry?”

“Yeah.”

He had. He was here for a reason. He tore his laser focused brain away from the flush that was invading her cheeks and forced himself to access his memory.

Hermione. He was here for Hermione.

“I am here for Hermione.”

“Oh.”

She looked slightly disappointed.

“Hermione’s out in the garden.”

“No, I mean I wanted to talk about her—Hermione—with you.”

“Okay...”

“I’m worried about her. Some of the things she said yesterday in Flourish and Blotts... I’m worried she might be a danger to herself.”

Harry saw Ginny visibly relax with a sigh. It was an odd thing to be relieved about, but with the exiting air from her lungs had receded some—but not all—of the tension in the room.

“Yeah. So now you know why I called you.”

“Yeah, about that, I’m sorry that I couldn’t stay before—”

“Don’t. I can’t be angry with you right now.”

She was avoiding his glance, but he saw her purse her lips together. He wasn’t off the hook.

“Do you want to sit down?”

Harry instinctively looked to Ginny’s bed as it was one of few surfaces where one might sit. He saw her gaze follow his and then her lips formed into a silent ‘oh’ shape and her eye brows lifted. She thought he was being presumptuous expecting that her bed would be a remotely appropriate place to sit himself. Then she looked to the chair by her desk—a far more practical option—and Harry acted upon the implicit suggestion shaking the slight disappointment at losing the opportunity to sit where Ginny so often lay.

~ diffindo ~

Harry sat in the chair and Ginny sat somewhat defensively on her bed. Her emotions were turbulent and her thoughts—particularly with relation to Harry—were muddled. But she did know one thing for damn sure. He was not going to sit on her bed—not right now—not with what she had been doing when he arrived.

“Ginny, she said everyone would be better off if she weren’t around any more. What am I supposed to do with that? There’s a part of me that thinks I should write to her parents. They really should know that she feels this way.”

“That’s not a good idea, Harry. Emma and Dan visited her a few weeks ago and she didn’t react well to the idea of being taken home. She thinks she’ll lose magic—that they won’t let her come back. I don’t know what Hermione would do if you went behind her back on this. But I know how I would feel.”

“Then what are we going to do? It can’t stay like this. What if she tries to hurt herself? That’ll be my fault if I don’t do anything.”

Ginny struggled with her commitment to Hermione’s confidence, because she knew exactly what would happen if Hermione tried to hurt herself. She would do as she had done her entire life and succeed in excess. But telling Harry would be a betrayal just as Harry going to Mrs. and Mr. Granger would be.

“I’m trying to get her to do some exercise. It always shakes me out of sadness, but every time we make any progress she goes to visit Ron or something comes up in conversation and she slides right back into her depression.”

“She’s been okay for a few days.”

“Hermione’s been better ever since you arrived. I think she’s distracted—with what’s going on—between us...”

Saying the word ‘us’ nearly broke Ginny. It hurt too much. Why had she started this? She was going to have to resolve it somehow. They couldn’t go on like this and... and he was staring at her with those eyes.

Ginny waited. Her mind had fallen fully silent when she had noticed the intensity in his eyes. She saw him look to her lips again. It brought back the memory of that first kiss. She’d been so confident and assured. She looked to his lips. He could kiss her now if he wanted to. He was only a few feet away.

Then she saw a smirk begin to spread on his face and he looked down and away nervously. His awkwardness was so amusing that she couldn’t keep herself from a brief giggle to which he responded.

The two nervously laughed away some of their mounting sexual tension.

~ diffindo ~

Harry slowed his breath in an attempt to stop laughing at the absurdity of his situation with Ginny. Maybe they should just talk about it. But as soon as the thought had arrived Harry crushed it with a hammer filled with his insecurities. And then the moment passed and the chance to collapse Schroedinger’s relationship was gone.

Ginny had moved on.

“I think, if I can keep her distracted enough, she’ll pull out of it. Speaking of which, your birthday is coming up soon. I was thinking she might want to plan and throw a party for you. I think giving her something to do would help, particularly if it is something for you.”

She was right. When Harry had lived with his aunt and uncle and cousin, he had often found that the best way to avoid what he later actualized as the horror of his stolen childhood was to throw himself into productive tasks—small attainable goals.

“But, Ginny, if you do plan something, could you include Neville too? His birthday’s right next to mine and he’s had it the hardest ever since the ministry—except for Ron I suppose...”

Ron hadn’t even woken up since his injury. Neville was hurting but at least he was still experiencing the world—spending time with friends—with Hannah. Ron might never get that chance. As much as Harry chastised Hermione for thinking that way, it was very much a truth that his best and first wizarding friend could die. He could die without ever saying goodbye...

“Don’t, Harry. I can see what your thinking. That’s what Hermione’s been doing and it isn’t working for her.”

She was right. Ginny had been right so much lately. He had to tell her. It would only get worse the longer he delayed.

“I’m leaving on Friday.”

The look of hurtful betrayal that invaded Ginny’s features caused Harry to quail.

“What?! You just got here. Hermione needs you and...”

He knew that and he knew that he should stay and resolve things with Ginny too. But Harry meant to keep his promises. His word was one of few offerings of value he had. _I must not tell lies._ And of course it would be worse when he told her why.

“I promised Pansy that I would meet and speak with her father this weekend. It’s a political thing... I think.”

“Pansy?! As in Parkinson? Pansy Parkinson?!”

She just stared at him with set jaw and fire in her eyes.

“We talked about this, Harry. Nothing good ever happened in the presence of death eater spawn. You’re going to leave—leave Hermione the way she is—the way we... for Pansy the Slytherin cunt. Who the fuck are you?”

Harry had never heard Ginny use that word before.

“Ginny, I just—”

“Get out! Get OUT! GET THE FUCK OUT!”

~ diffindo ~

Thu. 18 July

“Miss Parkinson, it has been far too long since you have called upon us. Draco will be down in a few minutes. It has been difficult for him. His fall broke several bones and left him with a nasty concussion. Nevertheless, I am confident he is eager to greet you, but in the meantime I must endeavour to suffice.”

“Thank you, Lord Malfoy. You needn’t grace me with your presence—but it is appreciated.”

It was true. Pansy smiled politely at Lucius. He had never taken much notice of her as a child—being well above the trappings of daily life—but it seemed that she had finally gained a measure of recognition in his eyes. Or maybe it was just pity about everything with Draco.

At least he wasn’t Narcissa.

Pansy wasn’t sure she could handle Draco’s imperious mother. She was the one who had driven Pansy away. Even after the attack— _his_ attack—Pansy had come back hoping for things to go on—to not be broken. But Narcissa had seen to that. Perhaps it _was_ for the best. Pansy was damaged goods now, so she could understand Lady Malfoy’s actions. It was what Pansy would have done without hesitation.

But it didn’t ease the pain or quell the hatred.

“You’ve been in Wizengamot more lately. It would seem that Aster has finally recognized what the rest of us have always known. You belong there.”

Lucius smirked with a twinge of reminiscence. It was fake. Everything he did was fake and Pansy had not grown up among the nobility without realizing that underlying bedrock truth. But in some ways among her social circle, the fake was more real than the real. It certainly was what mattered.

“Someday, Miss Parkinson, it may come to pass that you and Draco stand in our places—your father’s and mine. At least you’ll be able to stand together in the forum of politics. It can be—perhaps—partial consolation.”

“It would be an honour to be bestowed with such a responsibility.”

Lucius considered Pansy silently for a moment.

“Maybe you could give your perspective on a new initiative I am working on. It’s meant to extend and complement my previous work on muggle-borns—”

“Father, are you burdening my guest with your duties?”

Draco had come into the sitting room quietly—silently. He looked different—drawn. His recovery must have taken a lot out of him. But he was hiding it well. Draco never showed weakness even to his closest friends and family.

“Hello, Draco.”

Pansy’s library of socially astute greetings failed her. She wasn’t glad to see him and he didn’t look well.

“Father?”

Lucius looked to his son.

“Yes, of course. Miss Parkinson, with your leave I shall depart to my more onerous duties. But I meant what I said about soliciting your advice. I will forward the less sensitive documents to your father so that you may review them.”

“Well—”

Pansy hadn’t been home in quite a while and she was absolutely not going to share her current address. It was not becoming.

“Yes, sir, thank you.”

~ diffindo ~

Secrets. There were so many secrets. And so many types of secrets. There was all that he could never tell her. There were all the things he could never tell anyone—the things that only he would ever know. And there was the big secret.

But the worst of the worst was the secret that he and she shared—that joined them by its rude incision. It was a fact that they would never discuss— _could_ never discuss. It would destroy her and he couldn’t countenance that. Not after how he had hurt her.

Draco kept his polite and friendly demeanour solidly in place and Pansy did the same, but inside he was all insecurity. What was she thinking? Why was she here now of all times? Would she pickup on the difference in him?

He knew instinctively that she shared his strife. He had not risen among the cliques of the elite without an intuition of behaviour, but Draco didn’t see how he could even talk with her without injuring her further.

It was bad enough already.

“So where have you been? Cavorting with Potter I hear.”

Despite the sharp edge, this was the most comfortable track of conversation that he could pursue. It didn’t tear at the boundary between them. It was easy to avoid talking about _it._ It had to be this way since they were no longer in association. The playful conspiracies were out of bounds.

“Humph, it’s political I assure you.”

“What possible use could he be to you?”

“To my father actually. Papa thinks the boy can be used as a mouthpiece for his policies.”

“Potter’s too arrogant to subordinate himself to anyone.”

“He’s already agreed to it. You must underestimate him...”

Draco had underestimated Harry Potter... several times, but Potter’s authority issues weren’t subtle.

“... or maybe you underestimate me.”

That got his attention. What was she trying to say?

“Why are you here Pansy? You barely spoke to me last year. Is this just a condolences call on my injuries? I assure you it isn’t necessary.”

Though he would never admit it, during his long ordeal he called out to Pansy many times. He wanted to see her more than anyone else, but his reputation required disdain.

“Then maybe I should go.”

She was giving him the eyes. The ones that spoke of accusation. It was a challenge—a call to his bluff. He couldn’t back down. The strong never backed down. She was waiting for him to ask her to stay to make the next move. But he wouldn’t—he couldn’t—no matter how much he wished to call to her. To embrace her and speak of all the things he was sorry for.

“Fine, I’ll go. Daphne should’ve kept to her own business. She always was a bit too presumptuous.”

Pansy rose from her seat and Draco was forced to do the same or commit breach of protocol.

“Wait!”

She stopped, but Draco didn’t know what to say. Why was he stopping her? He mustn’t show that he cared. That would diminish him.

“What is the deal with Daphne? Why is she having you visit me?”

Pansy sat back down. Draco followed. She closed her eyes and shook her head. Her hands went to her temples as if she was warding off a migraine.

“I can’t do this. Draco, Daphne is worried that she’s going to lose access to your resources. I cannot reassure her, but I was hoping that you might be able to work a back-channel for her.”

He wasn’t sure if preferred more direct. The niceties of polite conversation gave cover the dark places that they shouldn’t tread.

“Well— is that what you want? Daphne could be a threat to you.”

Pansy pursed her lips and rolled her eyes with derision.

“Who are you to talk to me of who constitutes a threat?”

Draco had known Pansy a long time and she could skewer anyone at any time, but with these words she dug out his core. He felt empty with a shame born of the wrongs he’d committed.

“I’m sorry.”

“No. No, you’re not, and don’t say you are when you know that you aren’t—can’t be—and must never be.”

“Pansy... it wasn’t my choice.”

“It... wasn’t your choice...”

She echoed him quietly.

“This was a bad idea. I’m going to go now. Please, thank your father for his time and consideration. Excuse me.”

Draco felt his heart jump into his throat at her passive aggressive attack. She was so good at that. He didn’t want to see her leave—not like this. He wanted to make her stay. He wanted to grab her wrist and spin her around—pull her to him. Pierce her with the eyes that told her she belonged to him.

But that would be wrong—especially now. And he’d probably just hurt himself in the process.

As Pansy disappeared into the emerald flames, Draco felt a part of his heart incinerate with her. He had broken everything they had been—could’ve become. Together they would’ve conquered the world. He’d given that away—and for what?

~ diffindo ~

Water ran at his knees. Thick viscous fluid ran down the dank stone walls discolouring the surface of the stream. A coppery taste nagged at his teeth. He wanted to scream for help—for someone to save him—but _it_ was listening.

The terror blended with unknowable shades of horror as his mind fought against itself. He was too deep in. He couldn’t turn around now if he wanted to. It would find him—consume him. But she was out there, waiting for him. She too would be consumed and none would save her except for him if he could just find her.

He moved slowly taking care to keep each step smooth and silent, but no matter how hard he tried a splash here and a slosh there betrayed him. It was only time now. A deep rumbling slither approached from behind. It heard. It knew. It would get him.

He ran—no longer caring about the loud cymbal crashes of his feet as he fled. The main chamber was close—he was sure, but he didn’t know how he knew. It was a left and then a left and then a skipped intersection powering straight ahead. It was still coming—gaining on him. One more turn, he half slid into the threshold of a right turn and he saw it.

He saw a long tunnel. It was exactly like the one he left behind him. This was where she was supposed to be—where the cursed book was supposed to be. He turned around. It must have been a wrong turn, but the intersection behind him was gone. In its place was the beast. Bloody gore oozed from its broken and corrupted eye socket.

So that was it. He had no time or place to run. He closed his eyes and waited for the end. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt too bad. Maybe it would be quick.

So it goes.

But the end didn’t come and in the shivering, quailing, and whinging mind of a boy ready to die a resentment rose. Do it already.

The continuance of his extant nature stretched to incredulity. He should be dead and he wasn’t. He opened both eyes. The tunnel extended into the seemingly infinite distance. The snake had disappeared.

Still shaking he turned around and was shocked to find her lying prone not a meter away. She hadn’t been there before. He had to get her out of here now.

He ran to her. He slapped her cheek knowing presciently that she would not wake. That she was in a deep, magical, and unbreakable sleep.

But she did.

Her eyes fluttered and opened. They took a beat to focus on her rescuer. She recognized him. Her lips pursed together her eyes turned hard.

Was she angry at him? Was she under some kind of spell?

“I’m here now.”

His voice sounded hollow.

Her mouth snapped open in an unnatural immediate motion and a hair raising, blood curdling scream of mortal peril filled the silence. Her eyes were blank and muscles relaxed, but the scream erased all the thoughts from his mind.

“I’m sorry. I’ll help you, just hold on.”

But her skin was turning grey and her eyes glazed over. Lacerations opened along her arms and legs. The stench of rotting corruption invaded his nostrils. She moved at the last to direct her empty cadaverous eyes to stare directly into him as she screamed the last of her life from her body.

He just held her.

Then the desiccated lips moved to form her final words.

“Why did you leave me behind, Harry?”

Harry Potter woke screaming.

~ diffindo ~

“I think you know what it means, Harry. It means that you’re feeling guilty about leaving.”

“But Hermione, when I have dreams about Voldemort, it usually means—”

“He’s gone, Harry. You can’t have a connection to Voldemort, because he’s dead now. And from what you described, it wasn’t about Voldemort. It was about you and Ginny and a monster.”

Hermione sat at Ron’s desk trying to calm Harry down.

“But Hermione it was so vivid. It was like I was there again in the chamber.”

“Harry, you started out hiding from the basilisk and then you were running from it and then when you stopped running and let it catch you, what happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Exactly. So maybe your dream is telling you that you’re hiding and running from something. That if you turned and faced it, it would be no big deal. Maybe it would be a good thing.”

“And what about Ginny? What could that possibly mean? I don’t ever want to feel like that again.”

“Harry, like I said, you’re feeling guilty about leaving. You obviously have some concern about abandoning Ginny, so you should work that out before you leave.”

“Jesus, Hermione. But what am I running from?”

Oh my God. He could not be that dense. Hermione pushed up out of the chair and walked over to Harry.

“I think you’ll figure it out.”

Then she stooped over and kissed Harry on the cheek. If that didn’t get the point across then maybe he didn’t deserve to figure it out.

~ diffindo ~

Harry watched Ginny flying in lazy eights above the Weasley garden. It was hot, but not as hot as it had been. She had borrowed his Firebolt again and damn did she know how to pilot it. It was like she _was_ the broom. Her lithe body leaned to and fro coming into and out of turns.

He was sure.

He was going to talk about it—the kiss.

He had to do it before he left or he was quite certain that a serpentine horror would haunt his dreams. And as he thought about it, no matter how bad the next ten minutes or so would be, they couldn’t be worse then always wondering.

Somehow he was sure that if he left, whatever magic muse had interceded between them would flee forever. Harry didn’t understand love—at least not where girls were involved. His ineptitude with Susan had more than proven that. But this was Ginny. He mustn’t slip into thinking of them that way—as a formless collective.

She was still going to be cross he knew, but there was no remedy to that. Even if he abandoned his meeting with Lord Parkinson, it wouldn’t ease her sense of betrayal.

“Ginny!”

That was stupid. She couldn’t hear him that far up. He considered attempting an amplification charm, but that might come off too aggressive. He resolved to simply wait and watch for several minutes more.

It wasn’t like watching Ginny fly was anything but pleasant.

~ diffindo ~

He was watching her. Why did he have to be watching her? Ginny was mad at Harry. She was. She wanted to be. She had to be. He was wrong and he was leaving his friends to help _her._ Pansy was the worst of the worst. She was the world’s shiniest, richest looking apple with a thoroughly corrupt core. There just wasn’t anything good about Pansy Parkinson. She was a terrible person.

And Harry was needed here at the Burrow. Hermione needed him to anchor her so she would stop getting lost in her guilty sorrow. And in truth—Ginny was brave enough to admit—she needed Harry to stay too. She used Hermione’s need as an excuse, but Ginny was barely holding it together.

In the last few ‘training’ sessions with Hermione, Ginny had gone too far too often and Hermione seemed to be _enjoying_ that which was _obviously_ bad. But it felt so good to let her power out. She hadn’t known how powerful she truly was until she cast her first completely full power spell—flat out.

It had been at the ministry no less. The death eaters would have gotten them and they had learned the spell during the D.A. and she just felt a great power well up within her almost unbidden.

She had cast reductio at manikins during practice, but never in real life. They hadn’t stayed to see what became of that death eater. She was slightly worried that she may have killed him, so she was glad that she didn’t know for sure.

But the feel of it.

He was still watching her. Fine.

Ginny directed her broom down to the ground coming up just a meter or so away from Harry. She dismounted and picked up the broom.

“What do you want, Harry.”

Her voice sounded tired, but in truth she was anxious. If he was going to leave, he should just do it.

“I’ve been having dreams and Hermione says they mean I should talk to you before I leave.”

“Before you leave... Or you could just not.”

“I have to go—I gave my word.”

“To a snake. You can’t trust her.”

“I don’t have to trust her to meet her father.”

“Yeah, and about that. Is that what you want to be—a slave to a Slytherin master?”

That lit some fire in his eyes. Ginny liked that she could get a rise out of him. He needed to feel bad about what he was doing.

“I didn’t come to talk about that.”

“Oh fine. Dear master Harry, why did you want to speak to little old me?”

“You don’t have to be like that.”

“I’ll be however I damn well please!”

“Yes, of course, that’s not what I meant.”

“Why should I care what you mean when your just going to leave again.”

“I just want—”

“Want what, Harry? Why should I bother?”

“Just let me tell—”

“No. I don’t _think_ so. I don’t _want_ to—”

Harry was stalking toward her now. It was rather scary, really, but Ginny wouldn’t back down—not now.

“Harry, what are you do—”

Then he grabbed her by the waist and neck and pulled her in. He was going to kiss her.

Now?

Fuck that.

Ginny shoved Harry hard as his lips made the barest contact with hers.

“What the FUCK! Get off of me.”

He struggled with her for a second and then must have come to his senses because he let her go and turned his back in one swift move.

Ginny grabbed his arm and spun him around. She pulled back her hand and gave him a sound slap. The sharp smack echoed in the otherwise quiet yard. He hid his eyes from her.

“Feeling a little rapey, are we? Keep your bloody hands to yourself.”

“S— sorry. That was stupid.”

“You better believe it.”

“We have to talk about it.”

“About you forcing yourself on me?!”

“God Ginny, no! I wouldn’t do that.”

She felt her rage flagging. This was disappointing if perhaps an objectively good thing.

“Then what was that, Harry?”

“You wouldn’t listen to me.”

“Really. So it was kiss-the girl-to-shut-her-up. We don’t have that kind of relationship—”

“Yes, that’s what I want to talk about.”

Aargh! Boys were so damn frustrating.

“I don’t _want_ to talk about it.”

“We have to, Ginny. If we don’t... I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

“Nothing, Harry. Nothing will happen and that’s kind of the point.”

“But I like you. I like you a lot. You— you know what I mean.”

“And you think that because I kissed you that I like you—that I have wanted you for years and I’ve just been waiting for you to catch up to what I have always known. You think I’ve been waiting for my prince to come and sweep me off my feet when I make the first move and plant a passionate kiss on him and he pulls back looks in my eyes and says... _absolutely nothing._ ”

Finally silence reigned. Ginny was more than a little horrified at how much she had let slip in her anger.

“Ginny, please, I don’t want to think that I screwed it up that easily. Can we start again? That’s what I wanted to do. I just want to do it again.”

Ginny felt tears gather in her mind. She would not allow them to manifest in her eyes. She was better than that. There were no take-backs or redoes in life. And Harry should know that more than anyone.

“I can’t go back, Harry. It doesn’t work like that and you know it. But we can go forward. Go visit the bitch and see what evil she desires. I don’t know what has gotten into you, but I’m not going to be the one who makes you a liar. We need some space now any way. I think we should just keep it simple for the rest of the summer. I’ll be starting O.W.L.s in the fall, so it’s not like I’ll have time for you or any one else.”

There. Leave him with the reminder that she had options.

~ diffindo ~

“Wait. Wait-wait-wait!”

No, now that she had unearthed the worm he would not survive his abject failure. She’d found him cowering in the back of a hovel trying to blend in with the other vermin. He was a disgrace to his spirit animal. Bellatrix pulled back her wand hand and gathered the hatred born of decades of pain and suffering. The spell had been so much harder to cast before her stint in Azkaban.

“Stop! You need me to revive the Dark Lord!”

Aargh. Fine, she would tolerate his obscene existence a few moments longer. She had him in a full body bind, he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Why? And don’t think to use your slick tongue on me, I would take great pleasure it tearing it out.”

This was no lie.

“Thank you, my gracious Lady. His eminence was supremely wise to put his faith in your tenacity.”

“Out with it. Why should I keep you alive?”

“Yes, of course. Have you given any thought of what to do when you retrieve one of the pillars? Have you any idea what they truly are? I was the one to return his excellency to his ascendency. I assure you the Dark Lord left no map or manual.”

“Then explain the process.”

“In due time m’lady, but we must gather his scattered resources to us. With your proficient assistance, I will be able—”

She choked him violently. His faced turned beet red and Bellatrix smiled evilly.

“You will do nothing. You are a weak failure. If I keep you alive, it will be as a reminder to other feeble souls of what awaits them should they stray.”

Bellatrix did not release him. As he struggled to remain conscious she revelled in his suffering. She had restrained herself from him for too long. His pain was too delicious, but the Lord was waiting.

“Do you wish to live?”

His eye began to loll, but he nodded vigorously.

“Good. I will take that as your word.” She released his throat. “Actually, I actually prefer communicating with you in silence.”

The gurgling noises of his lungs attempting to clear the obstruction and gain breath was stimulating.

“My— Lady, your grace— knows—”

“Stop. You needn’t speak any longer.”

Bellatrix waved her wand lazily and Wormtail’s mouth was wrenched open. She tweaked her wand and she could hear him gag as her magic pulled his tongue taut. Then she twisted increasing the tension. He screamed, but the sound was muffled by his swelling tongue—much the pity.

Human tissue has a tension limit. It can stretch and compress to protect the vulnerable inner flesh, but Bellatrix was well aware of the limit. As she pushed past it, she could hear the slick tear as the organ began to separate from its natural home.

She laughed. His horror was almost as intensely satisfying as his pain. She felt her arousal grow. It was a frustration though. Dismembering felt amazing, but a true pinnacle would require a kill. Bellatrix relished the kill.

It was a disappointing anticlimax when the tongue finished its separation and fell to the dirty floor. She incinerated it.

She giggled at the look in his eyes. They were only for her. She had wholly and completely taken his attention. He could focus on no one else. It felt good.

“Now.”

She summoned an everyday not-at-all-magical quill at shoved it into his artificial hand.

“Record the will of the Lord as he bestowed it upon you. I have been exceedingly merciful, but any inaccuracies will be punished.”


	3. In Aster's Hold

# IN ASTER’S HOLD

[misericordiam.net](http://misericordiam.net)

Fri. 19 July

The Parkinson residence was surprisingly modest. It was similar to and in no way larger than Grimmauld Place. The edifice was formed of brick and iron, and while it evinced quality craftsmanship, it did not indulge in the opulence that he had often overheard described by Malfoy and his Slytherin buddies. Harry wondered when the conspicuous consumption of the magical nobility had begun.

“Welcome, young master. Please enter.”

The elderly house elf that had answered the door took Harry’s coat and motioned Harry to a small bench just inside the foyer. When he sat down the elf waved his wrinkled hand and Harry’s boots de-materialized from his feet and appeared in a rack across the entryway. With a second gesture, the elf dried and freshened Harry’s socks which had become moist from walking through a nearby rain-soaked park.

“Thank you.”

Harry felt awkward. He wasn’t used to this level of personal service.

“It’s good to meet you. I’m Harry. You are...?”

He offered his hand to the venerable servant who cocked his head with puzzlement as though no one had ever asked him that before. Harry decided that in the absence of a real name, he would think of the elf as Jeeves.

“His lordship is in the drawing room.”

Jeeves turned back at the arch that joined the entryway to the hall and—allowing a small amount of frustration to leak—he motioned Harry forward.

“This way, if you please, sir.”

“Of course. Sorry, sir.”

Harry noticed Jeeves shake his head slowly as he continued leading Harry down the hall. Apparently wizards did not apologize to servants or maybe it was that Harry called him sir. Whatever the breach of protocol, Harry decided that silence would be more prudent. Jeeves opened a plain single door and ushered Harry into the Parkinson drawing room.

“Master Harry Potter, my lord.”

Harry found himself suddenly anxious at the thought of meeting a death eater. The slight, but healthy, form of a middle-aged man rose from a chair that was turned away from the door facing the unlighted hearth. Well he didn’t look evil, but then Lucius Malfoy probably didn’t look evil to those who did not know him.

“Mr. Potter, thank you for answering my request; moreover, I must apologize for my daughter’s inconsiderate timing in her handling of your calling. Had I known she planned to impose upon your grief I would have had her wait, but given that you are here now I suppose I should be grateful.”

Harry did not possess the protocols of the nobility. He didn’t know what to say.

“I’m sure she didn’t have any other choice. I may have been avoiding her—no, I _was_ avoiding her.”

A look of melancholy passed across Lord Parkinson’s face.

“Did I say something wrong?”

The polite smile returned and the sharp eyed man quickly intervened.

“No, of course not, and please, you may call me Aster when we are in my home. No, I was thinking about Pansy. Fatherhood doesn’t come without its doubts and regrets. There are many things I should have done differently. But that is not why I’m taking your time. Ash!”

The elf that Harry had labelled Jeeves appeared back in the room.

“Yes, my lord.”

“Check upon the kitchen. I do not wish to keep our guest waiting.”

“You needn’t hurry, Lord Aster.”

“Nonsense, it’s late already.”

Harry was hungry, but he didn’t want Ash or whoever ran the Parkinson kitchen to be in trouble. Every time Harry had seen a house elf interact with his or her master the result had been upsetting.

“Yes, my lord.”

The venerable elf disappeared leaving Harry with the discomforting thought that he had no polite way to ask after the elf’s well-being.

“How long has he worked for you?”

Aster looked at him with a bit of surprise before regaining his composure.

“Sorry, it is easy to forget that you were not raised among the magicals. You bare yourself with a confident stature. It is typically considered rude to ask after the servants of a home and were you anyone else I would simply reply that Ash has served us well. But if you are curious, Ash was the premier-of-service when I was a little boy—that would be the head of the service staff.”

Aster chuckled nostalgically.

“He knows more about running a lordly house than I do. I don’t know where we’d be without him.”

Before Harry could decide if he thought Lord Aster was genuine a bell sounded throughout the home.

“Ahh! There we go. This way Harry.”

~ diffindo ~

Pansy sat at her customary spot on one side of the dining table—across from her mother. Pansy needn’t be nervous. She didn’t need to be nervous.

Pansy was nervous.

She honestly hadn’t expected Harry to agree to meet with Papa and she hoped that with her duty complete she could return home long before the end of summer. Part of her nerves stemmed from her mother who was always manoeuvring her and everyone else. With her mother’s constant insistence that she learn independence, it was incongruous that she had gone out of her way to invite Pansy to stay the weekend.

Maybe she thought Pansy could facilitate the negotiations with her father, but this merely demonstrated her mother’s lack of understanding about her connection—or absence thereof—to Harry Potter.

“The dining room is just through here.”

That was Papa from outside the room. Before he entered, Pansy snuck a glance at her mother hoping to find some clue to her machinations there, but as always her mother was wistfully serene as if everything around her was to her plan. And maybe it was.

Her father entered the room and proceeded to his expected seat at the head of the table indicating for his follower to sit at the other end.

Harry Potter wasn’t unattractive in the traditional sense, but his presence was so unvarnished that it felt arrogantly innocent as if he among all others could simply be himself and not consider the social environment. It was both enviable and infuriating.

“Harry. This is my wife, Therese.”

“Lady Parkinson.”

Mother remained seated but took Harry’s hand deferentially.

“Mr Potter, please accept a warm welcome to my home.”

“And you, of course, know my favourite daughter.”

Very funny dad. How droll.

“Pansy.”

“Harry.”

Pansy felt an odd dissonance between the person she was used to being at home with her parents and the entirely different persona that she wore among her social group. It felt wrong to be polite to a notable member of a rival house, but she also felt her mother’s eyes boring into her without any need to look. Hospitality mattered.

“How were the weasels—Weasleys?”

She caught her slip a moment too late. Damn it, Pansy, that was sloppy.

“They are getting along okay, I guess. Um... did you hear about... Ron and Neville?”

“Yes, I’m sorry, Harry. It was a difficult situation.”

“Not really. It would’ve been safer for everyone if I’d just done nothing.”

Pansy issued a silent prayer to the saviour. He was so inept. There was no polite way to respond to that particularly because he was right about how stupid it had been. Papa intervened instead.

“It is only he who fails to act who envies those who act and fail for the latter are merely injured by the realization of their limits while the former remains entirely ignorant of them. Like I told you earlier, Harry. I have my fair share of worries and regrets.”

Why was Father looking at her? Was she one of his regrets?

Papa had been distant to her ever since puberty. Something about the adolescent female terrified him. She had enjoyed that power during that awkward time, but now she missed the warmth of her younger years. Her father had changed though. His distance, which had seemed unsure or tentative, now seemed cold and resolved. She knew what her mother blamed her for. But Papa... he was closing her out. Their relationship was as much business as familiar. She was homeless while sitting in her own home.

Pansy caught her introspective spiral and moved her attention back to the table. The conversation had turned awkward. She looked to her mother hoping that she might be able to salvage things.

“So, Harry, I’ve had Nix make up the guest bedroom for you. It’s been a while since we’ve had guests so if you need anything you can ring for Nix or Ash and they’ll be able to get it for you. You are staying the whole weekend, yes?”

WHAT?! Pansy felt her body panic and she thought she caught a smirk on her mother’s face. Harry Potter was spending the weekend in her home! How was she supposed to explain this when the grapevine carried this to her peers?

“If it’s not too much trouble, ma’am. I don’t know how much time you’ll need, but I can stay at least that long.”

“Splendid! It will be nice to have youth in the house again. And Pansy-dear, you’ll stay to keep young Harry from boring of us too quickly, won’t you?”

This was horrifying. She couldn’t spend a weekend playing friends with Harry-bloody-Potter! But it wasn’t like she could say ‘no’.

“Of course, Mama.”

“Oh what _fun_ this will be.”

Pansy was going to get back at her mother somehow. It wasn’t going to be pretty either. Go ahead. Clap your hands like some empty headed idiot. Her plans for revenge were interrupted by the arrival of the food.

~ diffindo ~

Harry felt a traitor. Having servants milling around and sitting surrounded by such wealth. It wasn’t a place he belonged. The food was good—excellent really—but he was distracted by his thoughts for Ginny. Her plea to his common sense echoed in his ears. Why _was_ he doing this?

He set down his utensils.

“Lord Aster, I’m not sure why you think I’m a good choice for whatever you have planned.”

Lord Aster put the bite that was impaled on his fork back down onto his plate.

“Well, Harry, I think that you would make an excellent ally. I have three reasons why you specifically are interesting to me. First—”

“None of the details just now, dear. You’ll have plenty of time to talk business tomorrow.”

Harry noticed that Pansy was clearly embarrassed by her mother. He began to develop a mental image of Lady Parkinson as a deft social manipulator. And being so like her mother, it was odd to watch Pansy outside of her usual Hogwarts clan. Her customary confidence seemed subdued in the presence of her immediate family.

Again his protocol was lacking. Apparently family dinners were reserved for matters other than business.

“Sorry, Lady Parkinson.”

“No, of course not, Harry, and call me Therese. No, my husband has a way of taking all the joy from the simple things in life and I intend to have a pleasant meal. Please, do not restrict yourself in any manner on my account. You are a guest here. Go ahead and ask your question and my husband will remember his manners. This is civil home.”

There was no delicate way to do it.

“Well... Lord Aster... were you a death eater?”

Lady Therese’s smile instantly embrittled, and Harry heard Pansy do an actual spit-take and then try to suppress laughter. She hadn’t thought the suggestion so funny when she had been summoning him to her father’s bidding. But in juxtaposition with her mother’s entreaty for civility it did have some humour. He would laugh at it later since he was completely serious—and extremely nervous.

“No, Harry, but I don’t blame you for believing that. Many of high social birth were seduced by he-who-must-not-be-named. I am not now, nor have I ever been, a death eater... but I did work with them sometimes.”

Lord Aster didn’t appear angry or defensive—more sad.

“I will not ask forgiveness so I only ask that you understand this—I had a family to protect, and it wasn’t possible to simply avoid all of those who served the dark lord. It was always a razors edge, Harry. Had I rejected them outright, a person of my political power would be first on their list of targets. They wouldn’t risk an opponent such as myself. And if I had given into them, then they would know that they could control me with fear and they would continue to do so. And so I walked a high wire suspended between two chasms. It is not a time of my life that I am proud of, but I did what I had to.”

He found himself somewhat relieved with Aster’s response. Any less would have sounded ingenuine, but then... the lord of house Parkinson would be an expert in managing the confidence of others.

Harry spotted Pansy through the corner of view. Her eyes were wide and her mouth agape. She must not have known. Surely she had wondered, but it would of course have been easier to pretend otherwise. Subsumed in privilege, it must come as a shock to be faced with its cost.

“Well... dear husband...”

Aster’s shell-shocked wife was trying to recover.

“It would seem that you’ve stolen everyone’s appetite. Nix!”

A plump, but strong, female elf appeared. She was much younger than Ash, but radiated experience and competence.

“Nix, You may begin clearing down. Please package portions of the food to be taken in the bedrooms. We will... be dispersing for a while.”

As Nix began flitting around the table—popping in and out of visibility—Pansy’s mother turned to her daughter as if this was completely normal for them. Harry found himself distracted trying to discern the pattern of her traversal. It was efficient and planned, but difficult to predict.

“Pansy, dear, please show Harry to his room and make sure he has what he needs.”

“Yes, Mama.”

~ diffindo ~

Therese Parkinson held her face in the palm of her hand. Despite her instruction to Nix, Therese had yet to move from her place at the table. That was not how it was supposed to go. But perhaps it was for the best the boy turned it into a circus. Pansy was not wrong about how rough he was, but that would ultimately work to her advantage. His fabled naïvety could possibly lead them to an escape.

These were just the first steps of many. A new phase of her plan was now opening up.

Pansy was young and surprisingly easy to manipulate. She would have been disappointed in her daughter, but oddly enough that was good for her in this case. Keep her isolated a bit longer and maybe Therese could work her magic—the kind that only she seemed to wield.

~ diffindo ~

“This way.”

That was all she had said to him as they departed the dinner table. The silence was a handy refuge for her thoughts, but she had to keep looking back to ensure that he was still following. Despite the age of the house, the floors did not creak—a testament to the quality of magic running through the structure.

“Pansy, I’m sorry...”

No. Pansy held up her hand indicating that he should stay silent.

“Not yet.”

So her father _had_ dealt with death eaters. He was always so careful about keeping things above board. His reputation was everything and it was not possible that he would compromise himself in that way. How hard had that been for him? Why hadn’t he ever said anything about it?

“Your room is right here. You can call for Nix or Ash by name. Do you think you can handle that much?”

She indicated a door along the first floor hallway which she knew opened into the guest room. The family rooms were on the second floor and the servants quarters on the third. The top floor had all been converted to storage. She opened the door stepping into the room in front of Harry. As he passed her—continuing into the room—she gently closed the door behind her. As it clicked closed, Pansy swished her wrist and whispered.

“Murus Mutus”

It would not do to have her parents hear her interrogate the interloper within her home. She spoke in hushed voice despite the sound protection ward she had just cast upon the walls.

“What are you doing here?!”

He turned to her looking shocked at the question. On any Slytherin, she would have assumed it was just for show, but Harry Potter was too simple to put on a face.

“You’re the one who wanted me to meet with your father. That was you big mission, right?”

He was so stupid.

“I meant at his office—not in our home!”

“I’m sorry. I spoke to your mother via the floo. She thought it would be easiest—particularly with it being a Saturday.”

He was doomed.

“Harry, you need to understand that families like mine don’t work like others—we’re not like the Weasley’s. Everything is done for a reason. If my mother asked you to stay for the weekend, then it means something. If my mother invited you to our home, then it means something. _Everything_ means something.”

“What does it mean?”

“I don’t... I don’t know... yet.”

“I don’t really understand.”

No, he didn’t. He was just a stupid muggle-raised lion-hearted simpleton. Mama had plans. And a part of Pansy’s triune mind—the part that she had boxed up more than a year ago—knew what that probably was. If she was right, then Harry was safe enough, but still...

“Just don’t take everything my parents do at face value okay.”

“Are you telling me to distrust your father?”

“No! You dolt...”

Like a small child.

“Okay. My father will be fair with you, but he has an agenda. You’re not just here to shoot the breeze. But Harry... don’t trust my mother. It’s all a scheme. It’s _always_ a scheme.”

Harry furrowed his brow as if he didn’t understand simple language.

“Okay... I guess.”

Pansy closed her eyes and held back against the instinct to ball her fists and clench her teeth.

“My parents go to bed early and Mama will get everyone up shortly after dawn. So my best advice to you is to get to sleep early and I’ll meet you at breakfast.”

~ diffindo ~

Sat. 20 July

Breakfast had gone about as well as could be expected. Papa had had urgent business at the office and Mama had to answer a call at the Ladies Conservation Society. The L.C.S. did not typically rate an immediate response, but Pansy was greatly relaxed to be relieved of her presence. Harry was following her down the hall of the ground floor like a lost duck—he was hopeless.

“You’ve seen the drawing room and dining room and the guest bedroom. I suppose we could visit the library. Papa’s office is behind it and he would not want us in there, but the library would be fine.”

Pansy had started up the entryway stairwell towards the first floor before Harry said a word.

“I cannot imagine living like this.”

“Why? Is there something wrong with the way we live?”

“No, it isn’t that. I just— it’s so big. You must get lonely sometimes. I guess I never thought to ask—do you have any siblings?”

It was lonely sometimes, but one of the great things about being the only child in a large house was that there were always places where one could escape to—lots of places to hide.

“No, my parents believe it makes more sense to concentrate their assets on one child rather than diluting them across several. You’ve seen what _that_ does to a family.”

“The Weasley’s are happy. When I walk into their home, it doesn’t feel cold and dead. You speak as though your parents treat you as an investment. Doesn’t that hurt—I wouldn’t like it.”

Yes, it hurts, damn it!

Pansy stopped. She wanted to turn and really get in his face, but her job here was clear. She was to facilitate. So she took a deep breath and replied as politic as possible.

“It isn’t any of your concern.”

She opened the door across the stairwell to what apparently had been converted from a second drawing room into a library.

“This is the Parkinson family library. It is mostly history records and classics, but there are some magical tomes and even some twaddle should you feel inclined to atrophy your mind.”

“Wow. Hermione would love this.”

Mudblood! Pansy had to hold back her spite. Hermione Granger had been the bane of her existence since she started Hogwarts. It didn’t matter how hard Pansy worked or how well she performed or how deeply she networked. As long as Granger continued to excel in everything she did—and did it all as a mud-blood to boot—then _she_ was always the one worthy of praise. But these were not thoughts for Potter.

“It’s a miracle really that it hasn’t fallen into the floor below. The support magicks have been reinforced several times even since I was born.”

She didn’t know where to go now. It wasn’t appropriate to take Harry into Papa’s study or into Mama’s sewing room—a misnomer if ever there was one. I suppose he could see her bedroom. That was weird, but it would give them something to do. And she could test his reaction. Pansy’s room had always provided a Rorschach test to the few friends who had been permitted to see it.

“Come on. I’ll show you the second floor.”

Pansy didn’t even wait for Harry before starting out the door and up the stairs again. As she lead him down the hallway, she pointed out the various doors.

“This is Papa’s bedroom and that one next door is Mama’s.”

“Your parents have separate bedrooms. Why?”

She put her hand to her forehead. How to explain _that_! Like a child—just like a child.

“It’s an historical design meant to offer privacy to each of husband and wife to engage in whatever activities they need without impinging on the other.”

“I don’t understand. Your father has a study and you said your mother has a sewing room.”

God, help! Pansy fixed Harry with a gaze that told him unequivocally that he was stupid.

“It is so they can _engage_ — in whatever _activities_ — without _impinging_ — on each other.”

Harry’s eyes widened with realization and Pansy shook her head in quiet delight at his innocence.

“You mean— ?”

“Yes, but I don’t think my parents use them that way. Mostly they think it’s less uncomfortable for Nix and Ash when getting dressed in the morning. And it’s a place to sleep alone when they are angry with each other. Just keep in mind that this house was built in a time and for a class where marriage was not always an affair of the heart.”

Her delight soured as his face turned to one of introspective pity directed—it seemed—at her. It was just a descriptive fact. He wasn’t anyone to be judging her. He should be so lucky to be as she could have been. Her heart was none of his damn business. Political marriages come with security and power. The noble do not divorce.

She allowed her disdain for his simplicity to ebb.

“This door is my room.”

She put her hand on the door handle and struck Harry with her most serious I-mean-business glare.

“This is my room. Mock me to my face if you must, but go behind my back and I will make your life hell—I can—you’d best not doubt me.”

Then she took a breath, rolled her eyes, and let Harry into her room.

“Oh.”

At least he didn’t laugh.

Pansy hadn’t redecorated her room since she was nine. She was almost always at Hogwarts or at various social engagements, so she really just had to sleep here. The windows, four poster bed, and even her door and closet were adorned in pastel rolls of pink tulle and bright purple satin. She had a rocking chair which contained her old stuffed animals including Stacy her purple horned unicorn.

“I really just sleep here.”

“No, I think it’s great that you still have something from your childhood. It’s nice...”

If he’d been a Slytherin or a girl or anyone other than Harry-bloody-Potter, Pansy would have known with certainty that she was being mocked. But he was so blunt and uncrafty that he seemed genuine. 

She thought back to her visit to the Dursleys when she had been searching him out—how the tub-of-a-muggle that was Mr. Dursley had grabbed her by the arm and all but yanked her down the hallway first opening, displaying, and then slamming a broom cupboard and dragging her up the stairs and opening what she assumed was Harry’s small bedroom. He’d opened his arms indicating that the room was bare—which it had been—and then asked her to leave as ‘her kind’ weren’t welcome. So maybe this did seem nice to him.

He was staring at her introspectively again.

“What?!”

“N-nothing. I just didn’t see you this way.”

“It was a long time ago. Is there anything else you want to see?”

Potter was so damn nosey.

“Well... could I see the kitchen?”

“Why? It’s a servants’ area.”

Pansy knew she had failed to hide her distaste, but she threw up her hands.

“No, you know what, fine.”

She lead them out and down the stairs to the front entryway and then through a small door that connected to the servant stairwell. A right turn at the bottom of the stairs opened into a large and rather busy kitchen. Nix had two subordinates for managing the mundane tasks of the kitchen and home and both were busy preparing ingredients for the lunch.

Pansy didn’t like being downstairs. It wasn’t a place she belonged and she had been taught that the separation of family and service staff was intentional and at least partially for the benefit of the staff.

“Gum!”

Gum was tall as house elves went, but was slighter than Nix. She looked anxious—which made sense since Pansy was not a common visitor to the kitchen.

“Miss Pansy? Gum is honoured by your presence. How can Gum serve you?”

“Continue on your given tasks. It is not my intention to interrupt you. My guest merely wished to see the kitchen.”

Gum was confused. She looked to Harry as if noticing him for the first time and she scrunched her forehead as if he was puzzle that defied understanding.

“Y-yes, ma’am.”

Pansy allowed him to take in the area for a few moments longer and then turned back to the stairs.

“If you’ve seen enough, we should probably retire to avoid disturbing them further.”

Harry took a second to realize that she was referring to him.

“Y-yes, I didn’t mean to be a bother.”

He lead the way back to the stairwell and indicated for her to take the lead up the stairs.

“You are a guest of a noble house. It would be a failure of hospitality for you to be any form of bother.”

“That sounds like a politic way of telling me that I’m a bother, but you can’t say so, because reasons.”

“Harry, if you are going to involve yourself in politics, you must learn to behave with dignity. To hold your tongue. Otherwise, you’re going to be a disaster and I don’t want you ruin Papa’s influence. I honestly don’t know what he sees in you.”

The last sentence was muttered under the breath, but was heard.

“I don’t either.”

Great, he was moping. They stood in the main entryway at the top of the stairs with the air slowly filling with awkward vulnerability. Pansy didn’t like vulnerability whether she bore it or was merely a witness to it.

“Well... Mama would not forgive me if I failed to show you the garden. It’s just out through the dining room.”

She received a brief reprieve as Harry kept his thoughts to himself for the short traversal into the courtyard. The garden was one of her mother’s prides, but Pansy thought it was messy and disorganized. The plants and flowers vibrated with discordance. They were artificially sorted and garish.

But... there was a bench on the east side and Pansy proceeded to sit there. Harry joined her.

“How many elves do you own?”

“Bond, Potter. Bond. We don’t say that elves are owned.”

“But you treat them as property. I was trying to be kind. In truth, they’re slaves. They’re an entire class of person enslaved against they’re will. It is ugly and a stain on the magical world.”

Pansy could feel the angry indignation take residence on her features. How dare he?!

“Christ almighty, Potter, they aren’t slaves. Elves enter into bond willingly. And to answer your question, my parents _bond_ two elves. Ash and Nix. We employ a handful of others who come and go as they chose and receive a salary—a generous one in my opinion.”

“Oh come on, Parkinson! You can’t possibly expect me to believe that. Why would any elf give up freedom for lifelong bondage? It doesn’t make sense and so that has to be a lie.”

He didn’t have even a basic understanding of simple magical realities. Realities that he would have learned in any wizards’ primary program.

“Harry, did you notice the difference in apparent strength between Nix—or even Ash who is older than my grandfather by the way—and Gum? When an elf is bonded to wizarding family, he or she gains access to a flow of magic from the head of household. Now elves catalyse magic much more efficiently than humans so a small stream from a human can provide an elf with power, health, and vigour. It’s a symbiotic relationship.”

His gaze of unlimited dumbfoundedness was infuriating.

“Really?”

“Yes! God, can you stop making people into monsters. And don’t call me a liar.”

“So that’s why Dobby did it.”

He had clearly said that to himself. Pansy knew that she was better off not asking, but she couldn’t help herself. She had heard more than enough from Draco about the saga of Harry Potter and the House Elf.

“Why Dobby did _what_?”

“He bonded himself to me.”

“And do I understand that you didn’t know?”

“No.”

“That’s illegal, Potter. You could press charges for something like that.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because of what I just said. Dobby has access to some of your magic. He can and probably does siphon it off as he pleases.”

“I haven’t noticed.”

“That’s not the point. You can’t let someone just take advantage of you.”

~ diffindo ~

“Harry, I shan’t lie, I have every intention of taking advantage of you. However, you should understand that my arrangement can be of benefit to you as well. Pansy expressed some concern to me that I might be using you inappropriately, so allow me the opportunity to disabuse the notion.”

Harry was sitting in Aster’s study. In that back room that even Pansy hadn’t wanted to show him in her father’s absence. It wasn’t particularly remarkable. In many ways the library was much more impressive. He had imagined a dim interior hiding a giant mahogany desk wreathed in wooden shelves and bookcases with an enormous globe sitting to one side and a tall plant on the other.

Quite to the contrary, the room was bright, modern, and minimalist. The history that exuded from the crevices of the home had been stripped clean here. It was so disjoint from the style of the rest of the home that Harry could have been convinced that he had stepped through a portal into a muggle office building.

The entire back wall had been opened into a massive floor to ceiling and wall to wall window that looked down into Lady Therese’s flower garden below. The light reflected off of the white surface of Lord Aster’s desk becoming somewhat uncomfortable to his eyes.

The light from great window attenuated as Aster translucified it not quite to opaque. In his new found visual clarity Harry saw Lord Parkinson drop his hand having completed the magic required.

“So how exactly do you plan to take advantage of me?”

His lordship’s desktop was immaculately clean with very few items. A quill, a notepad, a stamp and pad. And a small picture which Harry couldn’t quite see from his angle but assumed must be of Pansy and Therese.

“Mostly by association. Since you’ve been in the Wizengamot gallery with Miss Bones and Miss Abbott, I can only conclude that you are studying up before you take the Potter seat. It will be helpful for you to have friendly faces. To be clear I’d not even think to try influencing your vote. My daughter has been quite explicit on how much of an idealist you are—but please, don’t take that as an insult—in many ways I envy you. Pragmatics has its course locked on dark destinations.”

“I guess—I guess I’m just sceptical is all.”

Aster nodded with understanding.

“That’s fair. Let me start then by explaining who I am politically.”

Harry wasn’t sure he wanted to become someone ‘politically’—a different person. And just to speak to the Wizengamot—a body that he had no real respect for. He respected Amelia and Augusta for sure. But as he thought about it, Harry realized that they each had a mask that they wore inside the Wizengamot. Maybe it was just inevitable that one could not be themselves in a public sphere.

“Harry, the world is changing and all of wizardry must adapt to the shifting winds. As a businessman I have contacts outside of the magical alcoves. So I have some confidence that any muggle—if given a view of magical society—would declare us anachronoxious. Since you grew up with muggles, I assume you agree.”

Yes! Harry agreed wholeheartedly, but nodded in a subdued manner not yet trusting the intentions of this very powerful lord of a wizarding house.

“There are issues of equality and just downright sensibility that need to be addressed. We needn’t get into specifics, but I also believe that someday the larger world will meet magic. And when it does—and when it meets us—I’d prefer we were celebrated as pioneers and not derided as deprecatious.”

“Do you mean how magical society treats women?”

Aster considered that for a moment.

“Well... no. Maybe. The equality of women in magical society was an issue that was hard fought over decades. But the reality—as an expert in law—is that women have all the rights that men have—as of today.”

“Surely that’s not sufficient. What percentage of the Wizengamot is female?”

Harry felt his anger rising. It was so easy to be dismissive of those who weren’t in a position to advocate for themselves. He was choosing to be blind.

“I don’t want to get bogged down, Harry. My personal belief is that given time equality of law will produce the ideal outcome. Instead—”

“But your personal belief controls how you decide things in the government. Your opinion affects law. How does your great law treat homosexuality?!”

“Hold on Harry! First of all, my opinions affect my judgement, but they do not bound any of my decisions. I am a professional of law and I make determinations within that framework. We have a God-given awareness of truth that allows us to supersede our limited undestanding... and as to the affairs of inverts... I do not typically concern myself with the private behaviours of any legal citizen.”

Harry felt repulsed. He wasn’t gay, but the idea that homosexuality had to be kept private was ridiculous. He stood up with fire and fear in his chest. If there was one thing Pansy had gotten across, it was that this meeting mattered. That it was important and would have consequences. He was not sure of what any of those would be.

But he wasn’t going to associate with Lord Parkinson.

“Harry, wait! I don’t mean offend. If anything this is exactly why I need your help. I’m a middle aged wizard, but I might has well be two hundred years old as far muggles would care. Please, give me a chance.”

He stopped half way to the door.

“Harry, I’ve done all the talking so far. Tell me what _you_ want from the Wizengamot. I can assist you in reach of your goals. And I am open to learning, but I am not but a sputtering flame in a cavern of darkness. I just need a little light to find my way.”

Harry closed his eyes and took a breath before turning around.

“You’ll have to speak plainly with me. I don’t like your confusing way with words.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Okay... I’d like to see the government take care of its people instead of itself. For example, does the Ministry really need the trace on every magical child.”

“Okay, that’s something we can discuss. The trace is an expensive program to maintain.”

Harry just cocked his head and stared at Lord Aster for an extra moment. For his part, Aster just look apologetic.

“This isn’t how I imagined this going, Mr. Potter. Maybe a better tack would be to divide myself from your natural assumptions. I am aware of the great enmity between you and the house of Malfoy. If you believe nothing else, then at least consider this—Lucius is no friend of mine—though Narcissa and Therese often socialize together and you probably know of my daughter’s long standing association with the Malfoy heir.”

He knew that Pansy was part of Draco’s crew. She’d taken part in several of their scuffles. But really all Slytherins ran together—all of them snakes with cold blood bleeding together. Pansy was no different. In many ways, she was worse than Draco who at least had the honesty to spit in Harry’s face rather than on his back.

“How can I possibly trust you?”

Lord Parkinson actually looked relieved. Perhaps he was just glad that Harry was not storming out as he had intended—as he still would if necessary.

“Good. That’s the question—isn’t it? I think—if you listen to what I propose—you’ll find that it does not require trust... merely self-interested cooperation.”

“And if I don’t want to cooperate?”

“Then no more need be said about it. I will not tell anyone—so as not to hurt your reputation and I would hope for the reciprocal.”

“And what of Pansy? She seems to have invested a lot in this. You’ve put a lot of pressure on her. What would it mean to her if I fail to agree with you?”

Aster’s face looked confused and then for the first time Harry witnessed a glimpse of anger.

“I don’t understand. Are you suggesting I would punish my daughter because of a decision that you made...? No... I love my family. Harry, I’m sorry that I’ve given you reason to doubt my virtue, but please don’t question my devotion to my family again.”

“Then why has she been so intense about the whole thing? Why does it feel like something is going on just underneath the surface?”

Aster chuckled infuriatingly.

“You _have_ met my daughter, right? Something is always going on, but most likely it’s an issue between Pansy and her mother.”

He seemed like he wanted to leave it there. That wasn’t an explanation.

“And that would be...?”

“None of my business and also none of yours.”

Harry took a deep breath. It was true and fair enough. Pansy’s issues were her own.

“So really I only have one more question?”

“Only one?”

“You say that you make no requirements of me and, if I understand, you are offering advice and tutelage on politics.”

“Yes, of course...”

“Then, what is in it for you?”

“Ahh! You are not as hopeless as Pansy-dearest seems to think. I classify the benefits to me in three general categories. We can discuss the details later. Firstly, you have a big name and influence—you’ll cause disruption which I need if I am to have any chance at all of challenging the current hegemony. Secondly, an association between the name Parkinson and Potter might help dispel the negative opinion that many have of my house—the public see us just like the Malfoys or the Goyles. Thirdly, I would like to look back on my political career someday and think that I did something more than hold the line—you represent the future and progress so I hope to ride your coattails.”

“Okay, and if I do agree?”

“ _Then_ we discuss specifics. You’ll need to be endowed as the lord of house Potter and that will be the real difficulty. In the meantime it’s also possible that we can get special dispensation for you to speak without actually being seated—you are the boy-who-lived after all.”

Harry mind hit a brick wall. It managed to sound both appealing and appalling at once. He was hopelessly lost in the Wizengamot and he couldn’t ask any more of Amelia or Augusta. He didn’t feel any qualms about taking advantage of Lord Parkinson and that seemed to be the expected arrangement...

But Aster was one of the elite, a snake, certainly Slytherin, and obviously capable of manipulation. And what would Ginny say? Harry didn’t want to be someone different than himself—to have a mirror identity.

“I... I need more time.”

This was obviously the answer that Aster was locking for because a wide smile appeared on his face.

“Of course you do. I would be concerned if you didn’t.”

Lord Parkinson rose from his seat and Harry—sensing the end of the meeting—followed suit.

“I think Therese has some outing planned. I won’t be able to accompany you—sorry for that by the way—but I’m sure Pansy will be along. She’ll keep my most singular wife in line.”

“Of course.”

~ diffindo ~

“Pansy, this is insane!”

Her hushed tone did little to hid her ire.

“It wasn’t _my_ idea!”

It had been Mama’s idea and Therese Parkinson had never seen fit to keep Pansy informed of anything.

“You can put your reputation on the line all you want, but don’t drag me into this whole Harry Potter _thing_ you have going on. Okay?!”

She was standing outside the Greengrass tea room with a visibly angry Daphne Greengrass. Daphne had pulled her aside just before tea had been served.

“There isn’t a Harry Potter _thing_. I’m just facilitating.”

“Facilitating this?!”

With a gesture of incredulity she indicated the sitting room in which a visibly terrified Harry tried desperately to intuit the procedures of high-class afternoon tea. He was failing and while Mama and Lady Adelaide Greengrass were handling him graciously, he could certainly not be classified as graceful.

“Maybe she’s testing him. Seeing what she has to work with.”

Daphne scoffed.

“Not much by the looks of it. And your telling me this is your father’s concoction?”

“Yeah.”

Pansy and Daphne flinched in a moment of terror as Harry nearly dropped his cup.

“I don’t want any part of this.”

“Not my decision!”

“She’s _your_ mother. Fix it!”

Pansy fixed her friend—at least she hoped that Daphne would still be her friend after this—with a determined look.

“I’ll try.”

~ diffindo ~

Don’t shake. Hold the cup, but not too tight. Drink, but not too fast. But not too seldom or too often. Harry’s entire mental capacity had been fully utilized by the maintenance of a few scant variables. It was amazing how hard a simple but unfamiliar act could be.

It wasn’t like he had never had tea before. He’d served it many times, but that had been in the Dursley’s supermarket beakers not in this delicate—probably heirloom—china. It felt as though it would shatter if he gripped even a little harder and Harry knew his psyche would crack too if he damaged the precious artefact.

“Oh Pansy dearest, please come and sit down.”

Harry saw Pansy approach gracefully from the archway. She sat down next to him in the only available seat which was on the—awkwardly named—loveseat that sat across from the two sitting chairs engaged by the noble ladies.

“I was just telling Adelaide about your musical talents. You must show us your voice tomorrow after mass.”

Harry saw Pansy glance at him before directing attention back to her mother. She could sing. He didn’t know that. Harry had never seen Pansy sing ever. She wasn’t part of the Hogwarts choir though all the evidence suggested that no talented vocal musician was.

“It would be unbecoming of me to make a spectacle of myself mother, but if you would like I can practice tonight and be ready for tomorrow.”

“Why can’t you sing now?”

Harry realized belatedly that he had voiced his question aloud. His curiosity had gotten the best of him and he’d forgotten to shut off his mouth—a chronic problem.

“Because, Harry, it would not do to perform while unprepared. That too would be unbecoming.”

He noticed as the conversation went on that he could start to relax. The focus had shifted to Pansy and it gave Harry some space to be less self-conscious. It was amazing how these two could talk for an entire hour and not really say much. A lot of opinions were exchanged and general platitudes given, but the overall purpose of the conversation escaped him.

Pansy, too, was quiet.

She looked appropriately humble when praised and feigned—somewhat successfully—interest in the whatever shallow topic was being discussed but she seemed to be waiting for the conversation to end.

“Oh... and Pansy has an excellent aptitude for business according to Aster—at least for a girl. She’s conscientious and faithful.”

“Oh, Therese, I wish Daphne had any kind of business acumen. Pansy will make a valuable wife someday.”

Harry glanced to the subject of their conversation who despite sitting in their presence had received acknowledgement from neither. Her eyes were downcast and her brow furrowed. Truly, if this was what it meant to be a child of noble birth than Harry was glad he’d avoided it. He felt—momentarily—a sympathy for the human spirit that was being presented like an auction lot. Then he remembered who she was and how she had hurt him and others and his feelings decayed into confusion.

“I’m sure she will. We should do this again Addy. It was most stimulating. We do regretfully need to take our leave as I did not provide instructions for dinner.”

“You are welcome to join us if you like.”

“It’s very tempting, but I would be remiss in my duties to ensure the provision of my husband who is quite useless in these matters. Thank you again. Come young ones.”

Lady Parkinson stood up.

“Remember, after mass. I expect to see you there.”

“Of course, Reese.”

As Harry accompanied Lady Parkinson out to the foyer, he thought he caught sight of Pansy exchanging a meaningful look with Daphne.

~ diffindo ~

Sun. 21 July

Pansy was homeless in her own home, but the sights and sounds and scents of the sanctuary filled her with a sense of belonging. The church was her anchor—one of her last. So many months and years would pass. Week upon week—service upon service—the people would change and the music would shift, but the doctrine would stay. The canon would stay. She wanted to stay. But while the church kept its doors open, she could not welcome herself here until her penance was complete. So she soaked in the familiarity as much as she could during the short minutes of the mass.

She had another few hours so she could serve as a carrot to be dangled to Mama’s friends and Papa’s colleagues—the good daughter. It was a bad lie. With her father’s task complete, Pansy had lost her primary distraction.

Tonight she would return to her cold walls and hard cot—a shameful place for a shameful person. Mama had made it clear that she was not to come home—not yet. It wasn’t fair. Pansy had done what was asked—fulfilled Papa’s needs—but still it was not enough. Her sadness rose coincident with her anger. And Mama wouldn’t even tell her what she was supposed to do. She just said that ‘it was for the best’.

She wasn’t going to lie to herself. They were privately ashamed of her. She had to keep up appearances, but the truth was obvious. Her own mother saw her as a failure and wanted her taken from sight.

Pansy looked to her left where Harry was sitting next to her carefully ensconced within the Parkinson family pew. He was doing better here than at tea. Church might be more natural for him. He was quietly following the missal and while he looked uncomfortable at least he hadn’t embarrassed himself in the presence of the fathers.

She realized with a start that she had assumed Harry was religious. Most wizards were—not all of course—but he had been raised among muggles so maybe not. Either way he was handling the mechanics well—kneeling at one time and standing at another.

Still. What was Papa thinking? He’s spoken of walking a razors edge. If that is what they had done for so many years, then allying with a philistine was jumping into the abyss. With Lord Nott at the head of the Wizengamot and her own failure to cultivate a relationship with the politically ascendant house of Malfoy... this seemed the _least_ advisable course of action.

Two votes were not enough to overthrow the current power.

Pansy looked forward two pews at the wielders of that power. Draco and his parents sat in their pew and exuded their signature elitism. Her emotions carefully boxed, she denied herself the affection for the young man who was no longer the object of her future.

He looked less skeletal than he had, but his presence was different. He looked how Pansy felt—not outwardly, but reading Draco was field of study for her. He looked like the world was his for the taking, but his eyes were too set—his jaw too sculpted. He looked like he was lost and frantically pretending lest everyone see him for what he was.

But what was that exactly?

Pansy tried to avoid it, but there was an obvious possibility. His ‘injury’ and thus isolation so soon after the defeat of he-who-must-not-be-named was too much to be coincidence. And he’d boasted of it, but Draco boasted of everything.

Had Draco truly taken the dark mark? Was he a death eater? Pansy knew only rumour of the Dark Lord’s sigil, but the rumours spoke of powerful binding magicks. What would his death do to such a young soul who had taken the covenant so recently? What price would it exact?

She didn’t know, but she suspected it could be a deathly cost.

~ diffindo ~

Mama had clearly gotten out of hand. When she had mentioned to Lady Greengrass a gathering after mass, Pansy had assumed she meant a small Bible study or perhaps another tea—as a reciprocation of hospitality.

But this was...

The library was the largest public room of the Parkinson residence and it was bursting with at least fifty people milling about and discussing everything and nothing at all. Many were simply social climbers hoping to gain legitimacy and notoriety from Mama and Papa, but there were many others, too. Ladies Greengrass and Bulstrode were talking church gossip and Pompadora Nott, Lord Nott’s sister, was flitting between small groups like a bird looking for feed. Trillian Macmillan was standing against the wall looking singularly bemused by her own existence in the absurdity around her—still wearing her unique ensemble of a terrycloth sash over an otherwise fashionable dress.

And she was supposed to perform in front of these people? There was barely room to breathe. Pansy could feel her mother’s eyes upon her urging her forward.

She stepped up to the piano and pulled out the bench. She’d left her music in her room. She had memorized it long ago and practised it last night, but in front of so many people Pansy felt the stakes were quite high. She wasn’t immune to embarrassment.

As she sat down, her fingers flitted above the keys as though her muscles were mentally preparing themselves. As Pansy struck the first chords of “If He Really Knew Me”, she began her rhythmic breathing to prime her voice for the opening lines. They arrived at the back of her mind emerging from her lips unbidden—the muscle memory ran deep.

Pansy’s mind wandered. Without sheet music to take her focus, she looked to her mother now leading Harry around like a fancy piece of new jewellery. He was miserable, but he would need to get used to this if he had any chance in politics. The section of Pansy’s mind that held her closed heart recognized itself in Harry’s plight. She wanted to run and hide—be alone. But maturity had come early for the sole Parkinson child and so instead she sat straight and delivered a precise and perfecting and empty and dead performance. The tones mirrored her existence too closely to pass unnoticed.

But Harry wasn’t jaded yet—his shell was made with a righteous pliability and for some reason Pansy didn’t want him to lose that. She didn’t know why she would care. It wasn’t in any of her natures.

As she concluded the final lines of the song, so too did she conclude her thoughts. Harry should never be like she. He needed to stay away from her and from her family and from her world. It wasn’t for him and it would only hurt him.

She didn’t know why she cared.

But she did.

~ diffindo ~

“Won’t your mother be angry?”

“I think I can handle Mama.”

After her music had faded away, Pansy had asked to borrow him from her mother—like he was some kind of property. Despite his annoyance at her insistence, he was relieved. If he had to pretend interest in even one more privileged anecdote of the nobility, he would lose his mind.

Who were these people?

Pansy had lead him out of the room as soon as Therese had turned her attention to another acquaintance. He had followed her up the stairs to the second floor and then without question up to the third.

The manor was taller than it had appeared to Harry, but non-euclidean extension charms were common enough—and maybe Harry had just misjudged from the exterior.

“What’s up here?”

“Oh, these are the servants quarters, but we won’t disturb their area.”

She continued on up another flight. At the top, she turned around before opening the door.

“Look. I don’t want you get the wrong idea, this isn’t... no, you know what, never mind.”

The door led into a large room with pillars. It appeared that all of the internal walls had been removed to create one large area that despite its grandeur was just being used for storage.

There were broken chairs with faded curtains hung over them and damaged tables and dressers. Hat boxes and garment bags. An old rusty toolbox. The entire floor was filled with old, probably useless, junk. It was a museum of Parkinson domestic life that stretched... who knew how far back.

It was quiet and they were alone. Harry was shocked at the realization of how familiar and comfortable Pansy was to him in juxtaposition with her parents and all of their colleagues. She was looking away and seemed to be standing—lost in thought—trying to make a decision.

“Yeah... okay.”

Ostensibly decided she threaded through the mess—around the discard furniture—and stepped over a fallen coat hook. At the back of the room was another door. It turned out Harry had been wrong. Almost all of the walls had been removed, but a small corner had been cut out of the larger space and was sentinelled by a nondescript wood door.

“Potter, I want to show you something.”

“What about your mother’s party?”

“Just forget about it. Everyone saw you, that’s all she really wanted anyway—to lay a claim to the boy-who-lived.”

When Harry had seen the throng of people in the library, he had suspected that might be it. He wasn’t unaccustomed to being a celebrity, but it wasn’t usually so elite.

Pansy opened the door to reveal what had been a walk-in closet. She ushered him in and pulled a short metal chain attached to a bare bulb that hung from the ceiling. The room was illuminated in a tired yellow glow. The walk-in was large enough that the two could stand without touching. But in such close quarters with Pansy Parkinson, Harry was somewhat uneasy—nervous—maybe even a little excited.

But none of this distracted him from what he saw. In gloomy light, he could make out pages and pages of sketched art covering the walls of the room like a quilt. They were plants and flowers, benches and trellises. A million varieties. And it was obvious that great care had been taken in the placement of each piece. In the centre of the back wall was a self portrait standing next to the only bare and unfinished area of wall. It was about the same size and shape as her painted visage. The spot looked reserved for something—or maybe there had been something there and it had been removed.

“So my mother has her garden. This is mine.”

“These are beautiful.”

Harry nearly missed the puzzled look that passed across Pansy’s face. Her eyes were sad. This closet held meaning for her.

“You don’t need to be nice to me, Harry. Not here. Not any more.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look, you’re a good person, Harry... unlike me.”

Pansy seemed genuine, but Harry couldn’t help but be suspicious. This was Pansy Parkinson. She didn’t know humility. She indicated the images on the wall with a dismissive flick of the wrist.

“I didn’t bring you here to garner pity or to show you that I used to have a soul. But this is my garden and it’s what’s left.”

She pointed to a specific sheet full of vibrant detail tacked to the right wall.

“This one was the last. I drew it a few weeks before I started Hogwarts. I wanted to make sure the walls were completely covered because I assumed I would start again in the dorm.”

Pansy looked away. Harry was terrified. His mental model for this individual was not capable of shifting sufficiently to fit the circumstances. She was being honest—he was sure.

“I take it then that you didn’t continue.”

He read the regret on her face.

“It was dorm life. As soon as I met my dormmates I knew that I couldn’t draw silly pictures of flowers and be taken seriously. I wouldn’t be so dramatic as to say that was when my childhood ended, but it was the start.”

Harry took his time taking in the sad beauty—giving each section of wall a moment of time to sink in—to be properly inscribed upon his memory.

“Why show me this?”

“Because this is what my parents will do to you if they can. And if they don’t, then the rest of the politically elite will. You need to decide how much this matters to you. Is it worth putting your life in a closet? I can tell you, it is painful living a lie.”

Harry broke eye contact to think about it. It had the ring of truth. He had seen some of it in Hannah and Susan—in Augusta and Amelia. But he knew his voice could bring change and the world needed change.

“You know... I grew up in a closet. In some ways this room feels more like home to me than anywhere I’ve been in years.”

Pansy’s acute eyes bore into him.

“The closet under the stairs... I wondered why he was so keen to show it to me. He thought I expected to find you inside... They kept you in a closet?”

“It’s not as bad as it sounds. You visited Uncle Vernon?”

“Yes, I needed to find you and it was one of the only addresses on record. You have no idea how hard it was to get that information. And I think it _is_ worse than it sounds, Harry. Why weren’t they ever punished? Did you not tell some one?”

“Honestly... no. Where else was I going to go? Did I want to end up in some kind of foster home—raised by children so damaged by their absent parents that they would destroy me for sport? And actually... I did tell someone once.”

“Who?”

“Ms. Figg.”

“The squib? But she worked for Dumbledore. Why didn’t she—?”

“I imagine that she did tell him. What makes you think he would’ve cared?”

Pansy looked down with a troubled countenance. He thought of absolving her—reminding her that she wasn’t any older than he was—that she couldn’t have known—that he was fine. But it was the privilege that she embodied that had put him there and kept him sleeping every night in a broom closet under the stairs.

“All the more reason to think hard before you agree to become a part of it.”

Her eyes were hard and resolved. She hadn’t tried to apologize and Harry respected her for that.

~ diffindo ~

Mon. 22 July

Pansy was a tumble of feelings. She knew that if Harry turned down Papa’s offer that she would have failed. And—anyway—Mama had been unmovable. The young Parkinson wasn’t even sure she wanted to move back home. Her bizarre—and no lesser word could apply—conversation with Harry had served as a crucible for thoughts that had traveled as free radicals for far too long.

Her parent’s way—the noble way—the Malfoy way—had brought her only ruin. She needed to turn away from politics and nobility—not towards it. For so long her identity had hinged on the variables of the privileged classes. Poise, wit, virtue, and judgement. That was who she had been to her parents. She knew herself to be well versed in all of those, but they no longer asked for them. Instead she had one core attribute to pursue.

Invisibility.

And that was why she found herself sitting in a chair next to Harry Potter facing her own Papa as he leaned forward onto his desk.

“So, Harry. Have you had time to consider my offer?”

Harry turned to _her_ as if she would answer for him. When she gave no visible indication, he turned back.

“I have—I think.”

His reticence produced a small smile of pity on her father’s face.

“I see that you have concerns—that’s good. If it’s not too much trouble, please share them.”

“I’m not a politician. It doesn’t come naturally to me. I don’t know if I can do it. Your lifestyle is so foreign to me.”

It was foreign to everyone, Pansy knew. There simply wasn’t a natural desire to suppress oneself though the instinct had been drilled into her personality from the crib. He could learn he chose to try. She’d seen it twice when he was speaking to the Wizengamot. It was possible that he had a instinct for it that he simply did now.

“I hope it stays that way, Harry. I’d prefer that your influence—your way—could stand on its own. We’ll certainly start with policies and ideas with which you are comfortable. You mentioned the trace. Most members of the chamber would never think to question it. That’s exactly the kind of fresh and honest assessment I think we need. Is there any other area that already captures your interest.”

Her father was waiting for Harry to comment, but he again looked to _her_ as if she had the answers. Though it was validating that he might think that, she did not. Pansy kept her expression neutral and he finally gave up.

“What about Malfoy’s new law? It’s new. Is there any chance we could undo _that_? It would be a relief to many people I know.”

Her father shook his regretfully.

“No, Harry, it actually works in the opposite way. The vote was decisive enough that none will want to re-approach the issue. It would seem moot since the vote is unlikely to change in any significant way in so short a time. Members would feel a strong pressure to reaffirm their vote as changing it would seem to admit a prior error and could be turned into a message of betrayal.”

Harry _must_ to learn some basic protocols. These were merely fundamentals. Pansy turned and spoke to him for the first time since they sat down.

“You should practice referring to him as Lord Malfoy. That’s the minimum you’ll be allowed for proprieties sake. It doesn’t matter in private, but you should get into the practice of it. Later we can work on more complex parliamentary identifiers like noble colleague, but for now it’s ‘Lord Malfoy’ not ‘Malfoy’ or ‘Lucius’.”

The grimace on his face testified of his disgust at the idea of using Lord Malfoy’s honorific, but he nodded in acknowledgement silently.

“Thank you, Pansy dearest. There will be many such obligations and the chamber will afford understanding, but yes, you’ll need to be tutored in procedure. But as to the subject of the trace...”

As Papa went on to describe in great detail many of the salient and often competing interests with regards to the Ministry trace program, Pansy let her mind wander. She wasn’t sure why her father even wanted her in this meeting. His business was with Harry and if she was just going to be forced out again... This was just torture. She was to sit and watch as one of her most despised enemies from Hogwarts received the tutelage and attention that should have been hers. It would have been hers...

“Papa, I don’t mean to interrupt, but why am I here for this? This is between you and Harry.”

She was careful to keep her expression neutral but she couldn’t guarantee that her eyes would not appear to be moist from her self pitying rumination.

“Because you are going to guide Harry along this path. You’ve studied the particulars of the Wizengamot in depth and are most qualified to advise him. It will hopefully give Mr. Potter a sense of independence from me, and I’m sure it will help to have someone his own age with whom to talk about it.”

Pansy was dumbstruck. So she was expected to work with Harry Potter—long term. It wasn’t fair and it didn’t make any sense. Despite the assertion of independence, surely Papa would need an assurance of coordination.

“Couldn’t I do this from home?”

Pansy winced inwardly as Harry gave her a funny look. The last thing she needed was this dolt getting into her private business.

“That’s an issue for your mother, dearest.”

“She’s made her decision clear already.”

Papa was looking at her with pity which Pansy hated.

“I’m sorry, dear.”

~ diffindo ~

It was just another doubt added to the pile the Harry was weighing against the potential advantages of cooperating with Lord Aster Parkinson. Was Pansy not welcome in her own home? Why?

He had noticed Pansy catching his asking glance. And he had noticed the way she had turned slightly away from him after. It was a private matter then and while Harry exceeding in butting in where he wasn’t wanted. He didn’t really want to.

That said, it didn’t feel appropriate to ask any of his questions with the atmosphere of personal family matters that had taken over the room. Pansy voice was bitter and sulky and more reminiscent of the Parkinson that Harry remembered from his lessons.

“Don’t be sorry, Papa. Just do your business. That’s what’s important.”

Lord Aster’s countenance rested on his daughter for an extra beat before turning back to Harry. From what Aster had said to him, he clearly did not know his own daughter’s mind.

“So, Harry, I assume you have questions.”

Oh boy, did he ever have questions right now. But in deference to Pansy’s assertion of privacy Harry suppressed most of them.

“You seem to be making plans for the near future. I assume you know that I’m only fifteen. According to Augusta—”

“Lady Longbottom, Harry.”

So Pansy was already settling into her role as his tutor. That would likely make her insufferable.

“Sorry, according to Lady Longbottom the Wizengamot was always unlikely to legally emancipate me. I’m almost sixteen, but how am I any use to you before I turn seventeen next year?”

Aster sat back in his chair seemingly relieved that the conversation had returned to business.

“Well—truth be told—that’s up to you. There are two roads we could tread. The first is that we can request special dispensation for you to speak ‘quod amicus curiae’... as an advisor to the chamber. This is a much lower bar to meet and Lord Malfoy’s public declaration of support to you bolsters that further. This would be our conservative course of action.”

“And the other option.”

Lord Parkinson paused briefly.

“The second option is to have you endowed as Lord Potter _now_ with all the rights and responsibilities that come along with that.”

“But I’m not of age.”

Harry looked to Pansy for an assist.

“Papa, the Wizengamot denied Harry’s request for legal emancipation. Why would they agree to let Harry become Lord Potter early?”

“Both good points, but Lady Longbottom—when she championed your guardianship—was focused on the wrong set of rights. Underage emancipation is rare, but the real problem is that there is no repeatedly established precedent. But when it comes to lordship, the history of both magical and non-magical nobility has been bloody—with war being dominant throughout history. If a ruler wanted territory, he would take it by force and kill the former ruler and his entire family.”

Harry wasn’t sure he wanted to know how this pertained to anything. But he continued to listen anyway.

“As civilization rose from chaos this was recognized as a serious problem in maintaining peace. Thus ‘superesse necesse est sanguis’ was a founding principal of the Wizengamot. It means ‘the blood must survive’. And one of the traditions that sprung up from this were allowances made to the last surviving heirs of a house. To such an heir, the strictures of eligibility don’t apply. You could be too young, too stupid, female, or even a squib and still you would have every right to the mantle of Lord—or Lady as case might be—if you carried the blood of the family.”

It never ceased to amaze Harry how deep the crazy of magical governance went.

“Your saying that because I’m an orphan...”

“Not just an orphan, Harry. You are the last remaining Potter of a seated line, so... the blood must survive. The members of the chamber will be resistant, but it would impossible to refute your claim on honest grounds.”

Harry had discovered breathlessness. His chest felt heavy. He couldn’t breathe. Why couldn’t he breathe? He didn’t want to be a Lord. It was all just theory and conjecture, but now...

“How long would this take?”

“A few weeks maybe.”

“And it would also mean that I’m legally an adult?”

“Yes and no. In most ways, you’ll be an adult, but there will be some ways in which Lady Bones will remain your guardian.”

Harry didn’t want to think about that. That sounded complicated. And he couldn’t get over the simple fact that was pounding through his mind. This person wanted Harry to become a Lord.

“You’d not only be able to speak, but also able to vote and introduce legislation.”

“Stop... please. I need a minute.”

Harry stood up and was out the door to the library before either Aster or Pansy could rise to help him.

~ diffindo ~

After Potter’s inelegant departure, Pansy had quickly excused herself. If she was going to be his advisor—Lord help her—then she might as well get started. As she exited the study she could see Harry on one of the divans along the far side of the library. His hand covered his mouth and his eyes were darting back and forth as he worked through the revelation.

Papa was skilled in business but not in managing people outside of a professional capacity. He had Mama for that. Pansy walked lightly over and sat down—not too close—not too distant. This would be her life now—a balancing act of performing her duty without losing her credibility among her Hogwarts house—not to mention her mind.

“I know it’s a lot. I asked Papa if he had any more that he wanted to tell you. But I expect you’d like some time to think this over instead of having more thrown at you. I know I do. It was just one more thing, and then I’ll leave you be.”

He looked at her and then nodded slightly.

“Because of your current dependent status, you’ll need to seek the permission of your official legal guardian prior to petitioning the chamber.”

His eyes were tinged with fear, but Pansy had to be sure he understood.

“So, Harry... that’s Lady Bones.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Um... she’ll just need to sign a form. I can get it for you.”

Harry nodded again.

Pansy didn’t know what to say. She had been immersed the implications and obligations of the Wizengamot since her younger years. It wasn’t easy, but she had no idea how to help him. And he needed to figure it out for himself anyway. She wasn’t going to drag him to success.

“Fine... I’ll be in my room... if you need anything.”


	4. Apology

# APOLOGY

[misericordiam.net](http://misericordiam.net)

Tue. 23 July

It had been almost two weeks. She had to face it. She was throwing her summer away and it was time to get past it. When Auntie Em had confirmed that Harry had left for the Burrow, Susan had been relieved—happy even. It was over. She could crawl into her bed and never leave it and no one would care.

She’d tried to explain the whole thing to him, but he’d been far too drunk to remember—she hoped. In retrospect it had been a bad idea. He deserved to know—that much was true—but he’d already hit some kind of bottom—a local minimum from which it was best to let the secret lie.

Still, she’d finished Gilderoy’s last book, pre-written three essays, and reorganized her closet. Susan was quickly becoming stir crazy. But she couldn’t visit Hannah and Neville—they had worked stuff out and didn’t need her playing third wheel—and Justin and Ernie were still at odds and she didn’t want to take sides in that.

The bathroom could use a deep scrub. That would at least take some time. After putting on her cleaning shorts and shirt, Susan walked down the hall from her bedroom and opened the broom closet to get out the cleaning caddy. It was on a high shelf and she had to stretch on her tiptoes to reach it with her finger tips.

The caddy was just toppling out into her grasp when the Bones residence doorbell rang startling Susan into dropping the caddy on the floor. Brushes and pumice stones and cleaning products went every which way and the only item she managed to recover was the toilet brush.

Fucking hell.

The doorbell always made Susan anxious. The wards kept out salesmen and other muggles and most magical visitors came via the floo network.

The bell rang again.

Susan left her mess on the floor to go see to who was calling upon them on a Tuesday mid-morning. It better not be that scrubbing powder representative again.

She unlocked the deadbolt and flung the door open somewhat annoyed at the invasion into her boredom.

It was the green eyes that got her first. Then the scar. In the milliseconds that Susan’s brain took to confirm and then reconfirm and then reconfirm again—because it wasn’t fucking tolerable to her psyche—she stood slack jawed looking at Harry Potter who was smiling bashfully just outside the threshold.

Shit. Fuck.

“Just one minute, please.”

And she closed the door.

Harry had just seen her in stained cleaning clothes holding a toilet brush. She hadn’t even bathed in a couple days... she didn’t have any makeup on... she looked like shit.

Fuck!

~ diffindo ~

Why did they slam doors in his face?

He should have called first. That would’ve been smart. Harry kicked himself for his inconsideration. He had hoped to catch Amelia without Susan. His visit to the Burrow had been a convenient escape from the drama in the wake of their ending relationship—but of course he’d found himself more drama anyway.

Harry’s heart clenched. He’d meant to be back at the Burrow—out of Susan’s hair and taking care of Hermione’s needs... and fixing what could be fixed with Ginny.

But now everything was different. Now Harry had to become a Lord in short order. His mind rejected the enormity of the proposition. He wasn’t a leader—not like that kind of leader at least. He didn’t know how to maintain an office or read a bill or make a political speech. A part of him sincerely hoped that Lady Amelia would reject his request.

Then he wouldn’t have to worry about it and it wouldn’t be his fault.

The seconds began to stretch and Harry was about to knock lightly and politely again, but the door finally opened. Susan was wearing a different—admittedly nicer—shirt. She was pretty. Her form drew him in. She looked natural, close, and intimate. No—not intimate. Harry found his feelings were struggling against his reason.

“Hi, I should’ve called.”

“No, it’s fine. Please come in.”

Harry stepped over the threshold and into the home of Susan Bones. He knew it well, but didn’t quite know what to do with himself. In previous instances, he had gone directly to her room, but that seemed inappropriate since he was here on business.

“Is Em around?”

“No, sorry, Harry. She already left for the Ministry.”

“Oh.”

He had hoped to catch her.

“I, uh, need to talk to her about something.”

Susan gave him an understanding, pleasant smile, but did not give any extra details. Harry didn’t know if he felt more annoyed and hurt by Susan or more embarrassed and ashamed by himself. She had rejected him and—now facing her once more—that still stung. Though he had been a real git after she’d done it. He barely remembered that night, but the one thing that he was sure of was this...

It had been Susan who had retrieved him and gotten him home.

That hadn’t been her responsibility.

“She’ll probably be back for lunch in a couple of hours.”

“Would it be okay too wait here then?”

Her eyes widened and he could sense her discomfort.

“Never mind, I’ll— there’s a park about a block—”

“No, Harry! No, you can stay. I just don’t know if I’ll be the best company.”

A canyon of quiet opened between them. It wasn’t as awkward as it was with Ginny, but Harry wasn’t sure he liked this new normal.

“Would you like something to drink? I can make tea.”

“Um... yeah, sure. I could go for that.”

~ diffindo ~

As Susan put on the kettle Harry settled at the nearby dining table.

“So why don’t you clean with magic? Wouldn’t that be easier? I’ve seen Mrs. Weasley do it.”

“It’s not conservationally minded—not that I begrudge it to Mrs. Weasley. It’s just that it’s not free.”

He was looking at her like he had no idea what she was talking about. She smiled at how endearing his cluelessness could be before harshly shutting that down.

“That’s the second law of magic, Harry. The output of magic work cannot exceed the energy put in. That’s not just magic Harry that’s fundamental thermodynamics.”

“But magic does impossible things all the time. What worth would magic be otherwise?”

“That’s why it’s an issue of conservation. Your body produces a fair amount magical potential just from the food you eat, but not enough to do anything super human. Most of the time large spells have to draw upon the surrounding environment. All life and even some forms of sub-life generate magical potential, and any witch can draw on it.”

Susan was a four-point-three out of the maximum of seven on the Nott scale. It was embarrassingly average, but by definition most people had to be average. And an N4 was perfectly respectable. She had been tested in preschool, so maybe Harry had no idea what his rating was, but it must be high to have survived at least two encounters with Voldemort.

“But it’s limited?”

“Sort of. Just like in you, it takes time to generate and build up. That’s why in some places magic is essentially dead because someone used it too greedily. We call them karma deserts.”

“But how much is too much? How do you know what is reasonable and what is, like you said, greedy?”

Susan shrugged because there was no easy answer. Theoretically, if you summed the total magical flux and divided it over recognized agents—and accounted proportionally for the varying efficiencies... but practically the problem was intractable.

“I don’t know. Just do what you can and encourage the same from others.”

“How did you learn all of this?”

“School, some of it... and curiosity... and Auntie Em.”

The conversation was interrupted by the screaming whistle of the tea kettle and Susan was quietly thankful for the distraction. Making small talk was not her speciality and anything other than small talk was... dangerous.

The comfort of silence was adorned with the clink of cups and splosh of liquid as she poured the tea. She sat down on a juxtaposed side of the table and lifted the cup to her lips. She let the steam tickle her nasal passages.

“Listen, Susan...”

Her heart was suddenly caught in a vice. It probably wasn’t possible to avoid this part of the conversation. In some ways, it had been inevitable since he had left her in the ministry work room in an empty ball of hopelessness.

“Harry, wait. I should really—”

“No, please. Let me go first.”

Despite his insistence, Harry took an uncomfortable amount of time collecting his thoughts. It created a space in which Susan’s over-active critical imagination could run rampant. She saw him take her to task over her cruelty—berate her for raising his hopes—for being receptive before being repulsive.

That’s how she felt now.

Repulsive.

She felt rejected and she deserved every moment of it.

“I’m sorry, Susan. When I ran off, I put you through hell. Augusta told me some of it. It was inappropriate and inconsiderate. And despite how you might feel... or not feel... I should’ve been brave enough to face you. So... I’m sorry.”

Aargh! Susan didn’t know what it was about Harry Potter that scrambled her brains. She didn’t want to hear him apologize. How could it possibly be his fault? And yet she recognized at some level that this behaviour should be expected from Harry.

It didn’t stop her heart from collapsing in on itself.

“Harry, no, it’s okay. That day... that day had a lot in it. And I...”

She wasn’t sure that she should share the rest of that thought. It filled her with shame.

“I could’ve told you sooner. I could’ve told you sooner. I... I could’ve told you sooner, so you had more time. I just...”

She stopped herself. He didn’t need her justification. He had no cause to care about her reasons. That wasn’t his responsibility. It was hers and that was the whole point. It was time for Susan Bones to start thinking about her responsibilities.

“Why did you come searching for me?”

His question was unexpected.

“I was worried about you. I thought...”

Again Susan paused—it seemed arrogant upon reflection. She had assumed that Harry had run off due—at least in part—to her abrupt brush off. But in comparison to everything else that had gone on...

“I thought that I had made everything worse for you. That you wouldn’t have run off if I hadn’t sprung the... break-up... on you.”

That was the first time she had said the word out loud. It was odd how words once spoken carved more indelibly on the soul.

“I’m a basket case, Sue. I probably would’ve run off anyway.”

He was so damn infuriating. She didn’t want to hear that. She wanted him to be upset about _her_. He could crush her heart with words that should absolve her of guilt. She was such a terrible person. And she needed to get hold of herself.

He was looking at her intently as if to divine her inner workings.

“I still want to know why you did it.”

“I said— I said that I felt responsible when you ran away.”

“No... not that... I mean, why you decided I wasn’t what you wanted any more.”

So he _didn’t_ remember. Susan had figured that that must be the way of it when he never mentioned it. They had barely spoken after that night, but still... it was a relief actually. It was better to feel guilty about lying to him than to feel worthless because he knew and didn’t care.

And she couldn’t tell him now. It was too late. That threshold was crossed.

She averted her eyes from his. She didn’t deserve the honesty she discovered in them.

“I’m sorry... it’s an unfair question.”

“No, Harry. It wasn’t. Look, I can’t really explain it, but you need to understand that it wasn’t anything about you. You’re amazing. It’s just that I...”

Well there it was. Despite her avoidance of ‘it’s not you, it’s me’, she walked right into it anyway. And worse yet, he had those slightly squinted eyes that told her he was questioning what she had said. She didn’t need him asking questions. It would just make things complicated.

“Actually, can I ask you a different question?”

Okay, it wasn’t a subtle way for her to change the subject, but when had either of them had any aptitude for subtlety.

“Sure...”

“I know it might be a bit weird, but I would like to keep practising Occlumency with you. I never really realized how deep I could get into my own head and now you got me interested in it.”

“Oh... I guess we could. If you want to. I always thought you’d find it boring.”

That made Susan smile a little more.

“It was Harry. Really, it was. But now that I can feel it working, it’s different.”

“Okay, then. We’ll work something out.”

Silence began to grow between them again.

“I’m _am_ sorry, Harry. Really.”

~ diffindo ~

Luna sat very still and very erect and very much on the opposite side of the Lovegood residence couch. The days ticked by in anxiety, the minutes in fear, and the seconds in terror. She didn’t know what was going on any more. This didn’t make any sense. He shouldn’t...

No, we don’t think of it.

It was that-which-must-not-be-named... but it had a name.

Absolution.

They had done absolution at least once a month since about six months after Mum died. Luna had never once thought to ask what it was or why she always woke up the next day without any memory of what had happened. That wasn’t like her. It didn’t make any sense. She was curious—inquisitive. Annoyingly so. Her classmates made sure she knew that.

So how could she never have thought to ask, and why didn’t she remember, and most importantly...

Why did she remember this time?

It would be better if she didn’t remember.

Her father pretended he was at ease. That everything was fine and as it should be, but it couldn’t be real. There was no way Daddy could be okay with it. It was wrong.

“Luna, dearest.”

He was speaking to her. She needed to respond.

“Yes?”

“I want you to know that I’m still sorry about what happened. You’ve never reacted that way before. I don’t want you to feel bad about it. Sometimes we all freak out a bit.”

How had she reacted before?

It struck her like a lightning bolt. She felt the realization run through her from her crown down her spine to her heels.

He’s obliviating me. That’s why I don’t remember.

But it didn’t make sense. Why did she remember now? And why would she have reacted ‘differently’? What did that mean? She felt disgusting. She was trash. She was dirty.

What the fuck was going on?

“Here! I got you this to show that I’m not mad about it.”

He was holding something in his hand. It was a box—a jewellery box. He opened it for her. It was a necklace. It was pretty.

“It’s obsidian. It will protect you. So that you can feel safe.”

He took it out of the box and held it out. He wanted to put it on her. He wanted to touch her. Her pores crawled in revulsion. She recoiled, but he persisted. The chain slid around her neck. It was suffocating.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to be afraid. I will always keep you safe.”

~ diffindo ~

“I am sorry, Susie Q. But I just can’t get away. Lately it seems like I’m the only person in the Wizengamot who stands for sanity.”

“But what am I supposed to do with him for the next five hours.”

“I don’t know... sorry... I really have to go now. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

As the sparks of the fire settled back into a natural pattern, Susan processed her horror. Auntie Em had called about thirty minutes after she was supposed to be back to tell her that she wouldn’t be home until dinner time. Susan was going to have to put herself in a coma if she didn’t get someone else here soon.

She and Harry had been playing wizard’s chess, which Susan really thought should be called witch’s chess because why should it be just a thing for boys. She had been considering what Harry was playing at advancing his queen so early in the game when she looked up to see his eyes boring into hers.

It had been like time froze. And not in that silly way in films when you kiss for the first time, but everything actually slowed down and Susan realized that they had without realizing it made mental contact. And, for a heart wrenching moment, she felt a flow of his emotions. It wasn’t thoughts or concrete ideas, but it was a deeper connection than they had previously achieved.

She felt his warmth, his solidity, his commitment, and beneath that his pain. It felt amazing. It was a connection that she could not describe and it was broken as quickly as it had formed.

The disconnect was a good thing, because if she could feel his emotions, then he could feel hers and she couldn’t have that. He must never know how she felt about him. Not how she really felt. As Susan let the memory of that brief coupling fade, she knew that she needed help and was grateful—for once—to be a Hufflepuff.

“Hannah Abbott.”

The fire flared again and turned a bold red indicating that she hadn’t yet been connected. Come on, Hannah. After another moment the flames turned green.

“Longbottom Residence”

So she was still staying with Neville. Susan felt a little naughty imagining what that pair might be getting up to—though maybe not under the watchful eye of her ladyship.

“I’m calling for Hannah.”

“It’s me, Sue.”

And a moment later, her image appeared in the flames.

“What’s going on? I haven’t heard much from you. Have you been moping in bed this _whole_ time?”

That was Hannah for you.

“Oh, you are _such_ a good friend.”

Susan let the sarcasm drip.

“No, Han, it’s worse than that.”

“Okay, so you’ve gotten fat from eating ice cream and reading trashy romance novels?”

“Hannah!”

“Okay, what’s the problem? Jeez.”

Despite her annoyance, it was good to see Hannah happy. She had been so tired for so long.

“Auntie Em is stuck at the ministry and Harry Potter is sitting in my living room. I have to keep him busy for like five hours and I am going to jump into the floo without powder if I have to do this alone. I need you to get over here... like now.”

“What is he doing there?”

“He needs to ask Auntie Em permission for something. She’s his guardian. Remember?”

“Okay, let me grab my bag.”

Hannah disappeared from the flames and the seconds ticked by with Susan planning exactly how she would make Hannah suffer if she didn’t help her, but then the floo flared dramatically and Hannah stepped through into the Bones residence.

“Alright my twelve year-old friend. Let’s go deal with the boy that you like-like.”

“Shut up.”

“Hey, you wanted me here. I’m here.”

~ diffindo ~

Amelia Bones didn’t know what she had done to deserve this kind of drama in her life. Her call to Susan had reminded her just how much of a child Susie Q still was. She was a blossoming young woman, but she still had need of her Auntie Em. It was validating. Greny had arrived at 15:30 to prepare for the meal and so luckily the food was ready when Amelia arrived home. She now sat at the table with Susan and Harry. Hannah had excused herself to return to Neville and Augusta.

“So it sounds like you had an interesting day.”

The death glare she received from Susan was adorable.

“It was okay.”

“Not too talkative I see. Harry, I gather you have some business for me to address.”

Harry looked almost shocked like he’d forgotten why he’d unexpectedly spent the entire day in her house.

“Yes... well. I don’t really know where to start.”

“I find the beginning to be generally acceptable.”

“Okay... well, Pansy Parkinson talked to me at Dumbledore’s funeral. She wanted me to meet with Lord Parkinson.”

“Aster wanted to talk to you?”

“Yes, ma’am. He wants me as an ally in the Wizengamot and he has a plan to get me seated.”

Amelia smirked and shook her head in disbelief.

“That sly devil... Harry, it makes sense that he would want your favour. But you needn’t give it for this. If you really want to take up the Potter seat, you’ll be able to do it without much resistance. It’s not difficult or controversial. Once you turn seventeen, some aspects of the title will be conferred to you automatically. He’s trying to take advantage of you.”

Harry nodded. He seemed somewhat reserved which was odd for him in Amelia’s experience.

“He said as much. But he thinks our goals will align and he hasn’t asked me for anything really.”

“Well it’s up to you, Harry. Lord Aster is better than some, for certain. But—honestly—once you turn seventeen, you’ll be an adult. So why do you need my permission for anything?”

Harry fell silent and averted his eyes. Something was amiss. Amelia looked to Susan who just shrugged.

“He wants me to do it now.”

“Lord Aster wants you to do _what_ now?”

“To be seated as Lord Potter.”

Amelia would have laughed, but she found herself too discombobulated to react jocularly. Harry must have misunderstood.

“Harry, you have to be of age to serve in Wizengamot. Lord Parkinson must have meant something else. Perhaps he wished to sponsor you as amicus to the chamber.”

He was shaking his head.

“No, he said something about ‘super nessy ess sang quis’.”

Amelia felt heart drop into her stomach. She repeated the words that she was absolutely sure Lord Aster had used.

“Superesse necesse est sanguis.”

“Yes! That.”

Of course... Lord Aster _would_ come up with that. It was insane! But as Amelia thought through it... it would probably work. She could see Susan working through the Latin.

“Blood needs to survive?”

Harry nodded.

“It has something to do with being an orphan.”

“Auntie Em?”

“I, uh... I’m going to put on a kettle.”

~ diffindo ~

Auntie Em had steadfastly refused to explain any part of her distress while she was making the tea. Susan knew her well enough to avoid pushing her luck. Em always let her in eventually, and when she had finished laying out the legal realities of Harry’s situation, Susan found herself almost wishing she hadn’t.

“Harry, I don’t think you necessarily understand the responsibility you would be taking on.”

What an understatement that was. Susan could see it. She was one aunt away from standing exactly where Harry stood. Could she take over the Bones seat, if she were given the opportunity? Forget seventeen. A few weeks could see Harry elevated from a student at Hogwarts—barely better than a pet legally speaking—to the most powerful of offices in the British magical realm.

“No, Director, I don’t. I have no idea what all this means. But if there is even a chance that I could help people and I don’t take it then I have to judge myself against everything I didn’t do—all the injustice I didn’t prevent.”

Susan had seen this in Harry. She wasn’t this strong, but he seemed to believe that his responsibilities had no bound—that he was directly responsible for the safety and comfort of every living being.

“Harry!”

She felt herself forcefully interject with barely a thought.

“You don’t have to do this, Harry. He can’t ask you to do this—not after everything you’ve already done.”

She felt embarrassed at her outburst.

“Susan, if I am seated as Lord Potter, it will add two more votes to repealing Malfoy’s immigration law—to making new laws—to making just laws.”

Auntie Em was watching the two of them carefully. She wanted to see if Susan could convince him. She resolved to try. She would try.

“Sometimes you _have_ to put yourself first. If you always give away what you have to others, you’ll find yourself in possession of nothing to give. You have every right to live how you want.”

“But that’s just it, Susan, I don’t know how I want to live. I was sure that Voldemort would kill me. After that night in the cemetery when Cedric died, I knew every night when I went to bed that he was coming for me. He would destroy me. This whole life isn’t supposed to be mine. What better way to spend it then in service to others?”

“Harry, no...”

He couldn’t live like that. It would consume him.

“It’s... it’s not some storybook. You weren’t the martyr who had to die for the story to make sense. This is life. You’re alive because Professor Dumbledore fought for you. Because your friends fought for you. But that doesn’t mean it’s some kind of gift. You get to live your life. You have to.”

“Maybe this is the life I want, Sue. Maybe all this time it’s because I didn’t know. I didn’t know where my purpose lay. I grew up with no one giving a shit about me. Well I’m going to give a shit! Why do you care?!”

Because it could be her. A different time. A different story. A different killing curse, and it all could have flipped on its head. He would be failing to dissuade her and she would bluster on without regard.

“I just don’t think it’s what you want.”

Her voice was careful and quiet. She feared his reproach as it was a mirror to her own.

“I think it’s what you’ve decided others want of you.”

His eyes were defiant.

“It’s better than the nothing I have otherwise.”

Auntie Em put in a hand to interrupt.

“Harry, I think Susan’s question is the important one. But... you seem resolved, so I’m going to contact Augusta and have her here tomorrow morning to go over the parliamentary concerns. Still, you need to know that you can decide against this at any point right up to taking your oath.”

This was moving _way_ too fast. Harry had to think about this. He needed time to reconsider.

“Why does it need to be tomorrow? Surely Harry can take some time to think about it.”

“He can, Sue, but the session is ending soon and it will be easiest to make this happen before news of it spreads to Lucius and his friends. There isn’t any real reason to wait if Harry is truly set upon this course.”

Susan wasn’t defiant by nature—she was a Hufflepuff after all—but in the weeks intervening since the end of the Hogwarts'’s school year she had found herself more often at odds with her aunt.

“This isn’t okay.”

Her aunt, who was actually more her mother than anything else, sighed and turned to address her directly.

“And it isn’t really any of your concern.”

That was a slap to her face and a reminder to Susan that she had no claim upon Harry’s future. Well that was not her fault. That was her ancestor’s fucking fault. But it was enough to shut her up. Harry looked apologetic, but was sufficiently wise to not make an issue of it.

“I should probably head out if I am to make the bus back to the Leaky Cauldron. I don’t really want to end up walking.”

As he rose from his seat at their table he smiled to be clear that he wasn’t really worried, but Em put up her hand to stop him.

“No, Harry. You’ll stay here tonight.”

His surprised eyes matched Susan’s own feeling of shock.

“I couldn’t possibly. I’ve been enough trouble.”

“Yes! You have. And I’ll feel safer with you here—under my roof—rather than worrying about you drunk in some bar with Morgana-knows-who. Besides, I’ve already re-purposed our guest bedroom to be suitable for you. You’re technically my responsibility, so you will have a place to stay here if you ever need one.”

Susan was still processing the idea of Harry sleeping in the room next to hers for one night. She was absolutely unprepared to consider Harry actually living with them.

“Director, I don’t like people telling me what I have to do.”

“Then, you will graciously and of your own free will accept my offer.”

~ diffindo ~

Wed. 24 July

Fuck it. Harry Potter knew how to make eggs. The night had been uncomfortable. His presence in her home had forced Susan into thoughts about their situation... and their brief relationship—no matter how awkward and doomed it had been. It still hurt. She didn’t want it too, but it did.

But, for fucks sake, if he could just make her breakfast each day... that would help. By Helga’s cup that would help.

Susan was so distracted by her ovarian ecstasy that she missed the considered glance Harry was directing at her. When she did finally notice she found herself pulled in by the intensity of his gaze until he broke eye contact. She’d need to be careful about that. She didn’t need any more of those ‘connecting’ events.

“Susan, I am in sore need of advice, and I can’t think of anyone else I could really ask.”

“Sure, Harry, what’s wrong?”

She owed him at least this much.

“What do you do when you start something—with someone—and bollocks it up so bad, but still want nothing more than to fix it. I mean... she hurt me, but I hurt her too. And I don’t know how to get back to where we were.”

Susan’s brain went into overdrive. What was he saying? He couldn’t be trying to _fix_ things with her. It was too late and he _had_ to know that. She had broken it and it wouldn’t go back. And did he really want to? Still? Susan had never desired anything more, but fear and shock joined with anticipation and launched her stomach well into her throat. This was supposed to be over. She had settled these feelings.

“Harry...”

“I just. Things were said—well honestly not said—and I wish I had done some things differently. Maybe the whole thing would have been different. Maybe we wouldn’t be at such odds.”

It wasn’t his fault. But nothing could change the fact that Susan and Harry would never be more than very good friends. Her decimated family tree guaranteed that. Her suppressed desire mixed with resentment. Why should he put her into this situation? It wasn’t fair to ask this of her.

But...

He didn’t know, did he. Because she hadn’t told him—not until it was already too late and he was drunk off his arse.

“Harry, sometimes things just don’t work out. We have to be willing to go on. You know—pick ourselves up and just keep going.”

“Yeah, your probably right.”

Susan swallowed hard as Harry dropped into thought for a few moments. She couldn’t bare much of this. She needed to get back into a safer space.

“There was just a part of me that thought a good game of Quidditch or another chance at that kiss might at least take things back to being friends. I just don’t want to be alone any more.”

“Harry, we’re still friends... wait...”

Stupid idiot. He hadn’t kissed her before. She’d given him the opportunity and he’d just shrugged it off. It had been endearingly innocent at the time. But then Auntie Em had crushed her dreams that same night and... 

She hadn’t really thought about it... but she’d missed her chance at kissing Harry Potter.

And Quidditch?

“Why would Quidditch have helped anything?”

“Ginny loves Quidditch. I just hoped it would make her happy.”

Susan felt horror spread through her chest and down her arms. And she felt bile rise to her throat. Ginny? He was talking about someone else. It had nothing to do with her. He didn’t want her. Her heart melted much like the day she had dumped him in the ministry work room. But this time it was seasoned with resentment. He sure had moved on fast. The anger and mortification made her cheeks hot and she saw his eyes focus in on them. Maybe he wouldn’t notice what she had been thinking.

“Why? What did you think I was talking about...”

His head tilted and his mouth open slightly and finally he exhaled in annoyed disbelief. He’d figured it out and Susan want to curl into a ball and die.

“Susan! _You_. Dumped. _Me_. Hard! You wouldn’t even tell me why. You thought that I was...”

He didn’t understand. Shit.

“I’m sorry, Susan, I shouldn’t have asked.”

Fucking right he shouldn’t. But as usual, Susan had to put others first. His anger was—perhaps—reasonable. And maybe, if she listened to his problems with... Ginny... she could regain some shred of dignity.

“Sorry, Harry.”

“Yeah... whatever.”

“Just tell me what happened.”

Susan was not entirely sure that her stomach would manage what was bound to follow. But she felt guilty and she could count this as punishment to her conscience. Maybe she would finally be able to sleep a full night’s rest.

“She kissed me. When I first got to the Burrow, she greeted me with a full on kiss. And not like an Aunt Marge kiss. This was...”

Harry made gesture with his fingers circling around his lips. Susan was light headed. She hated Ginny. Ginny was not deserving of his lips. Susan knew that this was jealousy and that it was the ugliest of human emotions. She swallowed hard trying to bury the sensation of betrayal.

“I get it, Harry. What happened then?”

“Then, I froze. We kissed and it was great... really, really great...”

Just. Get. On with it!

“But when it was over, she looked at me like I was supposed to say something profound and I didn’t know what to say. Then she ran off and everything has been bollocksed since then.”

Ginny Weasley was such a princess. Of course she would be vain enough to be offended because he didn’t verbally validate her... physical demonstration of affection.

“Harry, if that’s really what’s bothering her, then she’ll either get over it or you’re probably better off without that in your life.”

He just closed his eyes.

“It’s more complicated than that.”

Susan chuckled which felt nice. It dispelled a small amount of the envy and disgust that had lodged in her middle.

“I would hope so, Harry. Or it really sounds like much ado about nothing.”

“What do you think I should do?”

“I... I can’t. It wouldn’t be right of me.”

The inscrutable shake of his head heralded the end of her brief service as his confidant.

~ diffindo ~

Mrs. Weasley was chattering on about Harry Potter again. Fleur could not deal with Mrs. Weasley’s concern for Harry Potter. Not that she didn’t want to hear about the young champion that had bested her in the Triwizard arenas. Maybe later, but just now it was not possible.

She had just heard the Burrow door open and close. Patricia had told her about Bill’s close call with a cursed parcel that had been unstowed from a vault that had been unpaid too long. It would seem that when the owner stopped paying, they did so knowing that whoever examined the content would be subjected to a severe obliviation curse. Bill apparently barely caught it in time, and she’d had to hear that from the Head Curse-Breaker, his superior, and not from him. He was so inconsiderate. Fleur felt her blood boil menacingly... it was when she was most beautiful and terrifying. And that part of her—thanks to her veela heritage—was about to confront her lover—at least her lover if he continued to be so lucky.

“Hello, my lovely petal—”

His saccharine greeting—and Fleur loved it doucereux—was truncated as he recognized her fury.

“What’s— you found out already...”

“Found out! Found OUT?! Three days to tell me and yet nothing you said. What is wrong with you?!”

“I didn’t want you to worry... “

“Do I _look_ worried to YOU?!”

“No, but...”

“How dare you lie to me?!”

“I didn’t lie. I was waiting for the right time...”

“And when does this ‘right time’ arrive. You leave me in the dark. Do you think my— my— imagination is so weak? My mind’s eye is watching you die every day.”

Fleur felt her rage lurch toward sadness. She greeted it like an old friend.

“I’m sorry.”

“Surely you are. But how are we going to do this if you won’t be honest with me?”

Fleur knew that Bill had been preparing to propose to her. And she knew how much that would sting him. But Fleur had learned long ago that this was the way of it. If she wanted him to hear her, if she wanted him to change... this was the way of it.

“I’ll— I’ll do better...”

There it was. The concession.

“But— but, Tulip, I need you to trust me, too. I’m going to encounter things like this... and you have to trust me to handle them.”

She didn’t expect that. She could not stop up her worry with a cork of reassuring words. But he was reaching out to her. Bill was so cold sometimes, isolated. He didn’t share of himself freely and Fleur in that moment felt connected to her intended... well not yet intended. How much longer would this little spat make him wait.

She sighed and felt her face soften and her eyes moisten.

“Okay. I’ll endeavour so.”

He tilted his head in concern. Why did he think her such a delicate flower?

“Fleur, can I hug you now?”

“Oh you silly man! You don’t have to ask.”

~ diffindo ~

“Mr. Potter, this is definitively the third stupidest political plan in which I have ever participated. I hold strongly to the belief that you have not a clue what threshold you stand upon. Politics is not a trifle. It is the gravest of charges.”

Augusta Longbottom would expect this from Harry Potter, but to see Amelia being taken in by an imbecilic power play by Aster Parkinson... what was the world coming to?

“If, however, you are quite resolved upon this course, I would be derelict if I did not prepare you sufficiently. Is this really your course? Are you quite certain?”

He opened and closed his mouth several times, but did not break eye contact.

“Yes. And yes.”

Augusta took a deep breath and held it at its peak. And then let it out slowly.

“So be it. I will begin on the paperwork this afternoon, but you will again be called before the chamber. You will need to be ready... unlike last time.”

Contrary to her statement, young Harry had been very much prepared for his emancipation hearing. And it was exactly that sort of spectacle that Augusta planned to head off.

“I want your planned speech on my desk by the end of the day. No more than five minutes if you can manage it.”

Harry struck her as the type of student to have problems with sufficient length rather than excess, but he did seem to have a way of running away with a room.

Amelia interjected.

“Augusta, when do we have to make the petition available to the rest of the chamber. Later is obviously better.”

“I’ll take care of that Amelia. I haven’t wasted my years on the Ministry Operations Oversight committee. We’ll get it done.”

“If Lucius gets his hands on this...”

“Then he’ll probably have an aneurysm, because you know as well as I that he has his back to a corner.”

“And Aster...”

“Yes, well... I’ll leave that coordination to you, Lady Bones.”

Amelia nodded her consent and left to call on Aster at his office.

“Aster and I haven’t always been as cordial as we are now. You will find, Mr. Potter, that I do not forgive moral cowardice.”

Aster Parkinson had an opportunity to stand with the side of right during the Wizarding War, and he had chosen to preserve his life and family and business at the possible cost of society and civilization. Visualizing the sparse leaves on her family tree, it was difficult for Augusta to remain convicted against him, but she _would_ —to her dying day. None of those who stood by and let better witches and wizards fall prey to the cull of the death eaters could be forgiven. History would remember.

“Lady Augusta, what do I need in my speech? And I promise not to make a spectacle of myself again. I’m sorry.”

“You needn’t provide any promise or apology, Harry, just a draft.”

Harry’s averted eyes spoke of his regret in betraying her confidence. Good. Let it be a lesson to him.

“The formal petition will contain the operant statements. Just be prepared to explain why you are doing this because you will be asked anyway. That’s the other thing. I would expect many more questions from the chamber this time. What you are doing is of far more consequence to the Wizengamot itself than your previous plea.”

“I don’t think I could speak for five minutes.”

“It’s a guideline maximum. You may provide less if choose—including nothing at all—but you will be questioned, so it’s your chance to frame the conversation.”

“What should I say?”

Augusta let his question hang in the air for a moment to be sure she had his attention.

“The truth, Mr. Potter. It is a crime to intentionally utter mistruths to the Wizengamot. So whatever you say, be sure that it is true.”

“Okay.”

“You’ll need to be introduced by a sitting member. I can do it if you want, but Lady Bones might be a better choice.”

Augusta looked up as Amelia returned.

“Actually, Augusta, it looks like Aster wishes to sponsor Harry.”

Lord Parkinson’s interest in Harry still puzzled Augusta. It was a very progressive move from a man who had proven he had no aspirations toward change. So what was he playing at?

“So be it. Honestly, Harry, we could go through protocols again, but I think your time would be best spent in the pursuit of your statement. Therefore, I am going to give you some time to think on it. We’ll be sure to practice later, but you also need to get plenty of rest tonight.”

“So this is really happening?”

Augusta took a deep breath. She had been asking herself that question ever since Amelia had contacted her.

“It is in fact, Mr. Potter.”

~ diffindo ~

She’d taken to walking on her own. The green flora thrived under the summer heat. Adusta liked to close her eyes and feel the leaves and grasses and needles that crushed gently under her step. The empty sounds of the forest were a blanket to her emptiness. The world around her was full of life, but not intelligence. Here her endless stream of thoughts could be ignored, shut off for a time. It was a comfortable loneliness.

In an attempt to avoid the hit wizards, the pack had continued north. The days were shortening, and, despite their nocturnal tendencies, they travelled mostly during the day. Adusta didn’t know where they were headed. Aurea had flatly refused to make an explanation and Kullin—if he was in the know—was not letting it slip.

She didn’t really care. She didn’t care about much any more save that she be left to her solitude. Her visceral commitment to rationality had opened her mind to the analysis of her lycanthropy. It was a ponderable circumstance to be a werewolf. She could feel it within her. The period would begin at the start of the next week, would peak, and then taper off towards the end of the week.

The wolf clawed at its cage anticipating the release—the brief freedom from all thought and consideration. _She_ had chosen not to care. But the wolf did not even consider. The wolf did not analyse or worry.

It only hungered.

“Adusta?”

Her heart caught. Her feet crossed and she turned around with shocking speed. Her hands came up to defend herself from the attacker. Her posture was forward—poised. Her breath sped from the sudden rush of adrenalin. Her eyes blazed briefly with anger, but she did not acknowledge anger any more. She squelched it into resentment.

It was him.

The one decency he had granted her was to ignore her. To let her pretend that he didn’t exist within the walls of her realm.

“What do you want, Lyko?”

“I’d like to talk.”

“I don’t see that we have anything to talk about.”

He didn’t respond immediately. He knew he had no business here—with her. But yet here he was, presumptuous as always, ready to take what he wanted when he wanted without any concern for others—or for her.

“I’m sorry.”

Adusta smiled. She suppressed as much emotion as she could, but his proclamation was so funny she couldn’t help it.

“What are you sorry for?”

His brow furrowed. He had no idea what he was dealing with.

“I’m sorry for hurting you.”

“What makes you think you’re capable of hurting me? And why do you think I would care?”

“Running away from this isn’t going to help.”

“I’m not running away from anything. I have just come to realize that I don’t matter. I don’t matter to you. I don’t matter to Aurea. I didn’t matter to Fenrir. So now I don’t matter to myself and you know what... it’s working.”

“I just want to fix it if I can.”

“Am I broken? Do we need to get some glue so you can put the pieces back together.”

“That isn’t what I meant.”

“That is precisely what you meant. Find your absolution elsewhere, Lyko. Go find another body to draw your comfort from. I don’t need you any more.”

She could see that that had hurt him. It felt good, despite her best stoic efforts, to watch him struggle. Righteous torture. He deserved it. And even if it was wrong... they _were_ monsters.

“It doesn’t have to be like this, Addy.”

“What doesn’t have to be like this?”

“Us.”

“There is no ‘us’!”

She let her rage leak a little bit. Anger was the hardest emotion to contain. She was still working on it.

“We are a pack. There are wizards out there hunting us, so the pack is all we are going to get. You and I are stuck together. So I get what you mean, but we are going to have to find a way to live together.”

‘Not if I kill you... or myself.’

The thought was wicked, but Adusta found herself considering it. Both propositions. Lyko was strong, but he had to sleep. It would be easy. Aurea would be angry, but he had said it himself... the pack is all they’ve got. It would have to be quick—a pity—but she could do it. She could kill Lyko.

Or herself. That possibility had burned at the back of her mind day and night. It would be easy—or so she thought. But despite her resolve there was a primal part of her psyche that insisted on survival. It stilled her hand.

“Just leave me alone.”

“Addy...”

“And don’t call me that! I’m not your little sister you sick fuck.”

He didn’t speak any more. He didn’t leave either. He just stood and watched her.

“What is wrong with you! Leave me alone, Lyko!”

He turned slowly as if his body did not want to follow his command and finally left her in peaceful loneliness.


	5. Sanction

# SANCTION

[misericordiam.net](http://misericordiam.net)

Tue. 25 July

Pansy enjoyed the feeling of her hand around Harry’s neck. It brought her great pleasure to fantasize about strangling him. She’d only have to move her hand about two inches. And honestly, if he couldn’t keep his bloody tie straight for three minutes at a time, what use was he. She smoothed the tie back down his chest.

“Remember, ‘Lady Bones’ not ‘Lady Amelia’, ‘Lord Parkinson’ not ‘Lord Aster’. Don’t speak unless asked, and if you must, always address the chair. He’s ‘Lord Speaker’ when in session.”

Harry nodded. She knew she was on edge. Harry was so inconsistent and he had to do this exactly right or things might go sideways. Then she would have failed... her father would be disappointed.

“I remember.”

“Okay, then sit down and relax. You’re too tense.”

He walked over to the bench along the wall and sat down taking a deep breath before slouching over.

“Sit up straight!”

“You said to relax.”

“Relax with dignity.”

Harry improved his posture and Pansy took a seat nearby.

“It should be any time now.”

“Don’t you need to head to the gallery?”

“Stay focused! I’ll take care of myself. Papa will fill me in after the session.”

She closed her eyes and reflected upon the perversity of her new responsibility. The universe clearly had a message for her, but Draco had communicated it perfectly damn well—when he had ended things _and_ every moment after. She didn’t deserve the disgrace of being Harry Potter’s handler. She had sworn Daphne to silence, but if Tracey or Blaise ever found out... when they found out. Because they would. How could they not?

She had already been on social life-support just waiting for the last gasps to escape when Hogwarts started again, but the additional humiliation was almost unbearable. Pansy was not going to be seen in the gallery watching him plead his case. She’d get the details from her father if necessary, but she would steal this small bit of rebellion.

The sound of the Lord Speaker echoed down the hallway into the room.

“Master Harry Potter.”

Harry was up and on his way out of the room. Her dignity rested on his performance in front of the Wizengamot.

And his tie was crooked again.

She had to laugh at the cruelty of fate.

~ diffindo ~

“Lord Speaker, I rise with gravity to opine upon a matter of importance to this chamber. There are too many seats that have been left empty for too long. And it is incumbent upon those that remain to steward those that lie fallow. So when an opportunity to populate one arose, I could not ignore it.”

Harry would never understand the sideways view of truth that permeated the Wizengamot. There was so much talk of honour and so little demonstration of it. Lord Aster—no, Lord Parkinson—spoke with grand words and of sweeping ideals, but it was obvious that his goals were nothing so lofty.

“‘Superesse necesse est sanguis’... It is a phrase not often uttered in modern times, but despite the reach of our civilisation we are so seldom civil. Recent history has delivered many blows to the magical race, but few more devastating then the complete destruction of the House of Potter. It was obliterated to such extent that none now can assume the burden of public service.”

He spoke of holding the power of government as though it were some altruistic charity service. It was so disingenuous.

“And yet, he who has given so much, and who is the only remaining heir to the Potter blood came to me seeking to enter into that exact service. To burden himself before the consummation of his own majority. ‘Superesse ... necesse ... est sanguis...’ He has the right to protect the interests of his house even—and especially—in light of his solitude. I ask the speaker to recognize this ardent novitiate.”

Harry blew out one last breath and prepared himself. He’d been before the Wizengamot so many times that at this point he should have been quite used to it. It never seemed to get any better.

“Point of order, Lord Speaker.”

It was Lord Malfoy. He must still be smarting after the embarrassment of being out done by Lady Bones.

“Lord Speaker, the remnant blood law has not been invoked in over seventy years. Must we continue with such regressive and outmoded traditions? It is not an acceptable—”

Lord Speaker Abelsted Nott intervened.

“The Noble Lord of Malfoy will suspend. He must surely be aware that the law of which he speaks has, and remains, a right law of magical Britain and that as such cannot be discarded by simple whim. The chamber is bound to hear such a plea. That is my ruling.”

Lord Malfoy bristled visibly as the speaker turned back to Harry. So there was more to Lord Nott than a lap dog to the death eaters. The speaker turned to address him.

“Master Potter, I am eager to hear what you have to say, but I would be remiss if I were not to note that you seem to be appearing with some great frequency. I might have suspected you coveted a place here. Please, take your time.”

Harry nodded his head. It was surprising to him that Lord Nott was as fair handed as he was. Lord Malfoy either didn’t hold as much power as Harry had thought or maybe Lord Nott was a man of principal. That would be truly shocking.

The chamber was quiet waiting for what spectacle he would make of himself this time. Well he had learned his lesson. He again saw Percy Weasley providing his voice a boost.

“I have little to say. I am here because I am needed. I have been told that the Wizengamot is the anchor of our society. That it holds the ship of our community on an even keel through the storms of history. You are the last to react to changing winds and first the to look back to the shores when the waters become choppy. But history is not an ocean, it is a river. And you have dragged your anchor for too long.

“It’s time to have the courage to change. To look ahead to the horizon and not back. Lord Parkinson has that courage. He has already asked for my guidance. Me. A sixteen year-old youth. He sees the future coming. It is a future where we can no longer hide from the muggle world. They have already outstripped us. When the wards finally fail, what will we have to offer them.

“My family is gone. I am a seed blowing on the wind. The limb and branch and trunk and root are all long burned away. The House of Potter demands its rightful place. I demand my rightful place.

“Who are any of you to deny it to me. Lord Speaker, I am quite done.”

“Thank you for your concision, Master Potter. If you truly wish to become a member of this chamber—and I assure you it is not for the light of heart or short of patience—then you must be prepared to stand on your own. The rules of the chamber are different with regards to members as opposed to witnesses. So for as long as the chamber desires, I am going to allow them to question you as though you are a member. I will not intercede on your behalf. Do you understand?”

“I do.”

“So mote it be. Lord Parkinson, since you elected to sponsor Master Potter, I am going to assume you have already had your questions satisfactorily answered. So instead, we will proceed to Lord Greengrass.”

Harry had not met Lord Greengrass during his visit to Daphne and her mother. He was a distinguished, but strong looking gentleman—much bulkier than Pansy’s father—but he had an unmoveable presence.

“Harry Potter. You, my boy, don’t want any of this. My good friend Lord Parkinson has done you no great service by pressing you into this.”

Lord Greengrass looked down and took a deep breath. He clearly didn’t feel good about Harry’s plan to become a part of government.

“You have spoken as to why the Wizengamot needs you Mr. Potter, but why do you need this chamber? Why are you here? You haven’t told us that yet.”

The truth was that Harry was here because he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he gave up a chance to make the lives of his friends better. Power was responsibility. Rejecting power was rejecting responsibility.

“I’m here because I’m tired, Lord Greengrass—”

“Humph! You’ll hardly be getting any rest here, boy—”

“You didn’t let me finish. I am tired of watching those who can change things for the better sit on their laurels and pretend that everything is fine as it is. You argue over recognitions and resolutions, but never make any attempt to help the people who have no other choice but to look to you _hoping_ that someday you’ll glance back.”

“Young man, you are preaching. I like your fire and I like your ostensible aim. But you will not find your precious progress among this body if you continue to insult its members. Again, I understand your frustration, but it is very easy to sit on the outside and proselytize about political and social generalities—”

Harry attempted to interject but Lord Greengrass waved him off.

“—you will learn that even among the powerful you will have to stay in your place. This is my time and I will do with it as I please. Fortunately, I only have one more question.”

He wasn’t sure if he liked Lord Greengrass or not. He seemed to be taking Harry’s plea seriously, but he also kept belittling Harry’s age. He was like an understanding parent explaining the world to his toddler.

“Will you, young Harry, listen to the voices around you who have more experience if those same voices swear their honesty to you?”

He didn’t even think about his reply. This one was obvious.

“I will listen to the voices who are right and not to those who are wrong.”

Lord Greengrass sighed.

“I would love to debate the epistemology of that position, but instead I will merely endeavour not to be wrong. That is enough from me, Speaker.”

The speaker turned to his other side.

“Lady Bones.”

“Good evening, Harry.”

“Good evening, Lady Bones.”

Amelia paused to collect her thoughts and Harry wasn’t sure if it was for show or if something he had said had bothered her.

“Harry, there has been some issue made of your motives here. Perhaps it might clear things up if you told us how you felt when you learned that a seat in the Wizengamot belonged to your family and thus to you.”

“Okay... well... I guess— I guess I felt betrayed. It isn’t proper to speak ill of the dead, but I suppose this isn’t news to anyone. Dumbledore knew. He knew about the seat and about my parents and he had his hands deep in all the parts of government...”

Some low ranking member from the upper tiers burst out with here-here and there was a rumble of discontent from the other members.

“I know I would have been too young, but I had a right to know. I think... I think he feared he might lose control over me. If Hogwarts wasn’t my only home within the magical realm, then he wouldn’t be the sole person I could turn to in time of need. It made me realize just how alone I had been. I saw Professor Dumbledore as a kind of father figure, and when I learned what he had kept from me, I realized that he was nothing of the sort.”

“Would you say that it brought into relief how isolated you were and how vulnerable your family name was?”

“Yes, Lady Bones. I would say it was also exactly that.”

Lady Bones nodded slowing in consideration.

“The House of Bones understands that very well, Harry, and so do I. I’ll yield my remaining time.”

The speaker looked almost apologetically to Harry before turning to the next member.

“Lord Malfoy.”

“It’s all very romantic, isn’t it, Mr. Potter.”

“I—”

Harry shook his head not understanding. His heart was filled with an eager dread. Lucius Malfoy was the avatar of the enemy and it was a poor sign that he couldn’t predict the line of questioning.

“A young man orphaned for a second time finds that destiny has long hidden from him his purpose. He—a lone, evolved, and understanding youth—will champion the hoard of progressive change that will sweep across our society ushering in a blissful utopia. I doubt your earnestness in this pursuit, but let’s put that aside for the moment and speak a bit to your potency.”

“I am plenty capable, Lord Malfoy. The people listen to me.”

“That they do, young Mr. Potter, but for how long? When—excuse me, _if_ —you are endowed as a member of this body, what will you do? Do you know how to introduce a bill? How it should be formed? Nonetheless, do you know how to predict the consequences?”

“Do wish me to answer or do you just like the sound of your voice?”

Lucius chuckled mirthlessly.

“Is it not true, Mr. Potter, that—regardless of any other outcome—you will be forced to rely on the expertise of those more venerable members surrounding you? Is that not true?”

“Of course I will need to learn from those that I _trust_.”

Harry emphasized the word trust attempting to make a strong implication that Lucius was not among those.

“And when these members tell you that what you plan is impractical or unwise... will you consider that counsel?”

“Of course.”

“And when you find that none of your lofty ideas can be practically implemented, what then will you tell the people who—as you say—flock to listen to you?”

“You are assuming that I’m going to fail. If I do, then I will commit to work harder and that I will do.”

“I think you’ll find that your following quickly tires of your inefficacy.”

“I am not here to be popular.”

“Oh really. Aren’t you?”

“No, I’m not.”

“The reason I question that, is you have a history with finding yourself in the position to be a hero. One might even see it as pathological. Did you not face a deranged teacher in your very first year after breaking into a well secured vault?”

“Yes, he was possessed and was trying to steal the philosopher’s stone.”

“Perhaps he was trying, but was not the thief’s best chance at retrieving the stone by process of manipulating you to get it for him and isn’t that what very nearly happened?”

“Yes, but he died when I touched him because of—”

“It doesn’t matter, Mr. Potter. Have you given any thought into what would have happened had you simply not gone into the vault at all?”

It was a slap to the face. Of course, he had thought about it. Professor Quirrell would have gotten the stone somehow. Harry still didn’t understand how the mirror had exactly functioned to protect the stone, but Quirrell and Voldemort with him would have found a way.

“I hardly think that leaving—”

“And what of your second year? Did you not irresponsibly travel into the chamber of secrets completely disregarding your own and other’s safety?”

“No, that was Professor Lockhart.”

“Please don’t blame a man who is quite too insane to defend himself. The noted traveller, adventurer, and writer, Gilderoy Lockhart found himself missing most of his episodic memory during the time that you and he were in the chamber of secrets. Is _that_ not true?”

“I wasn’t my fault—”

“Nothing ever is, is it Mr. Potter? You have left a trail of pain and trouble and even death behind you. Is it not true that you were the only witness to Cedric Diggory’s death?”

“Of course not—”

Harry stopped himself. Voldemort and Wormtail had been there, but he couldn’t very well dive into that considering what he had agreed to. He subconsciously glanced to his right hand.

_I must not tell lies._

“Then who, Mr. Potter. Who else was privy to what happened that night, because Mr. Amos Diggory sure would like an answer to that. The former Headmaster gave his word on your behalf, but he wasn’t there was he. Did you kill Cedric in jealousy as he reached the goblet first?”

“Of course not—”

Harry didn’t know what to say. The truth was on his side, but no one was supposed to know the truth. He saw Lady Longbottom rise from her seat out of the corner of his eye.

“I object to this deplorable treatment. Mr. Potter’s history is rife with struggle and if the late Professor and once speaker of this chamber is not sufficient witness then little remains of the honour of this body. There is a difference between questioning and prosecution.”

Lucius smiled accommodatingly.

“This time belongs to the House of Malfoy and I shall use it as I please. However, I can sum up my questions quite succinctly.”

Lucius turned back to face Harry. His eyes were just a touch too intense to match the smile plastered across his lips.

“You discovered magic at eleven years of age. Is that not correct?”

Harry was wary of answering any of this snake’s questions, but this was common knowledge.

“That is correct.”

“Then this is my question. Can you point to a single year since then—more than five of them—in which you have not found your life and the lives of others around you in danger? I’ll leave it at that.”

Lord Nott adjusted his position uncomfortably and turned back to Harry.

“Master Harry, you are allowed to answer Lord Malfoy’s question if you so choose. Do you have anything to say?”

Harry was seeing red. He wasn’t irrational or hysterical, but he was right mad.

“I have nothing else to say to him.”

“I see... well then... next would be... um... Lady Longbottom.”

“I have no questions, Lord Speaker. Mr. Potter, does not need to justify himself. The law requires no such thing and I will not participate in further interrogation.”

“Very well, Lady Macmillan.”

“Hello, Harry. I do hope you will forgive us our concerns. My son would call you a friend and has found himself in plenty of trouble on his own. It is quite normal for young men of noble breeding to test the waters of their realm, I should say. My question to you is this. You have shown incredible patience and capacity for associating with the lesser classes of our society. I should like to learn from you more about how you handle that. I suppose it isn’t really a question for the chamber, but I should like to meet with you on the topic. I should like stop the rampant class warfare that seems to be growing among the commoners.”

He didn’t have any response to that. In fact, he didn’t even understand it.

“I suppose I agree with you. We _should_ meet outside these proceedings.”

“That would be most agreeable to me and my precious Ernest.”

A beat passed before the speaker picked up that Lady Macmillan was done.

“Lord Nightshade...”

This was going to take forever.

~ diffindo ~

“You did very well, Harry.”

Lady Longbottom was calming a very tired and very frustrated Harry Potter. This was all fine, but Pansy thought it would have been much better had Harry not got into pissing match with Lucius.

“Your presence and protocol were acceptable, Potter, but perhaps you shouldn’t antagonize the entire Wizengamot in one go. Did you really need to insult every one of them by implying that they have abrogated their duty?”

Lady Longbottom turned her attention to Pansy. The lady was intimidating, but nothing Pansy couldn’t deal with.

“I think the greater abrogation, young Parkinson, is that many members have in fact abandoned their duties in favour of theatrical politics. Pointing out the flaw cannot be a higher crime than the flaw itself. They needed to hear it.”

That might be so, but there was a time and a way to address such concerns. It shouldn’t have been a public chamber hearing.

“Lady Longbottom, why wasn’t the chamber closed to the public. This kind of proceeding is usually considered sensitive.”

“I specifically requested that they not do so, as is the petitioner’s right. The public are on Harry’s side and Lord Malfoy must be very desperate to block Harry to oppose him that publicly.”

That made sense, but it was a big risk considering how volatile Harry Potter was. Anything could have happened.

“What about Lord Malfoy’s questioning? Will that not have damaged Harry’s chances and reputation?”

“Among the members who only wield one or two votes, I expect it should rather help him greatly. They would love a champion with a name as big Harry Potter. We were never going to get the votes of Lord Malfoy or Lord Nott. If we are to look to the future, it will not be without the help of the lesser houses.”

Pansy saw Harry’s brow furrow.

“It might help if we didn’t call them the ‘lesser houses’.”

The term was merely a traditional designation for convenience of conversation. It wasn’t meant to be pejorative in any way.

“It’s just what they’re called, Potter.”

“You’re the one who seems to think that names matter.”

Lady Augusta, stood up.

“You did fine, Mr. Potter. Alas while the hearing was public the vote will be taken in closed session. Members have been given an hour for consideration, but what I said during the hearing was true. Without an articulable—and provable—objection of some kind—which should have been made clear during the hearing—your claim of the seat is not a matter for the floor to debate.”

Pansy had been listening from the witness waiting area. She’d finally given in out of curiosity. Harry was more articulate that she had expected, but against some members he’d seemed flustered and weak.

“I still think that Lord Malfoy made his objection quite clear, Lady Longbottom.”

“Yes, he was quite vociferous wasn’t he. If you think clearly through his interview, you’ll remember that aside from attempting to assassinate Harry’s character, he made no official objection.”

“No, but he and those who follow can still vote against Harry’s petition.”

Lady Longbottom, quite unlike the stolid presence on the floor of the Wizengamot, shrugged quite expressively.

“Wisdom to know the difference, Ms. Parkinson...”

Pansy had no idea what she meant.

“Lady Bones would like the two of you to join Susan at the Bones’ residence and wait for us. I must see a man about a frog.”

And her ladyship swept away down the Ministry concourse.

“Come on, Harry. Do you have any idea what she meant?”

“About the frog? I have no idea.”

“No about ‘wisdom to know the difference’.”

“It’s an old muggle prayer. She’s telling you not to worry about problems beyond your control.”

How nice it would be to simply discard all her concerns, but the sad truth was that worrying about things beyond her control was all Pansy really had to her life now.

~ diffindo ~

“Very well done, Harry. Let me be the first to offer my congratulations.”

Lord Parkinson put his hand forward and Harry took it. He thought that he would be giddy with relief. Tension always built in anticipation of an upcoming event, but in this case his nerves had given way to a sense of overwhelming enormity. It was just more real. Part of him was sure that he would be blocked.

“They... voted for it?”

“By a healthy margin, boy. You pulled a majority of seats and a very respectable 395 votes. That’s more than half the votes in the chamber even if you include the abstentions.”

Lady Amelia put her hand on Aster’s shoulder.

“Let’s save the rest for the dinner table. Greny is ready to serve and everyone is hungry.”

~ diffindo ~

Amelia was quite ready to see the back of Aster Parkinson. She was quite appreciative of his help and despite her doubts it was going to be an adventure with Harry. But the man didn’t quite know when to quit. She had matters that she needed to discuss with Harry... in private.

Pansy was still making plans with Harry for tomorrow.

“I’ll stop by tomorrow, Potter. We’ll need to discuss establishing a staff and provisional office space.”

“Pansy, dear. It _will_ wait.”

“Yes, papa. Tomorrow, Potter”

“Tomorrow... Parkinson.”

Pansy furrowed her brow perhaps considering how odd her last name sounded when used as her designator. But then she turned to her father and they were gone through the hearth.

Amelia let out a breath of relief.

“Well that’s done for today.”

Lady Augusta had begged off early on the pretence of checking in on Neville and Hannah. Apparently, she had felt need for _increased_ supervision of the pair... Amelia agreed, but in a matter that brought a wry smile to her lips.

She was left in the company of Susan and Harry. Her thoughts shifted to the mess she had made of those two. A furrowed brow replaced the smile.

“Susie Q, would you take some time in your room, please. I need to talk to Harry alone for awhile.”

Susan caught Harry’s eyes and then shrugged in apology to him before moving off to her room at the end of the hall.

“Harry, I find myself thirsty. Would you mind talking in the kitchen?”

“Sure.”

Amelia moved into the kitchen and Harry sat down at the table. She got her self a tall glass of cold water and tapped the side gently.

“Glacius.”

She took a sip and let the cool liquid cleanse her tongue and throat.

“Ahh. Harry, we’ll need to establish how things are going to work going forward. Now that you are the official leader of a lesser noble house, you will by nature have privileges that you didn’t before. In almost all ways you are an independent adult. Unfortunately that puts me in a very odd position. Legally, I am responsible for your personal conduct and while a strong case can be made that that liability does not extend to your duties as head-of-house, I am not comfortable giving you free rein.”

She noticed that Harry sat up a little straighter at this.

“You’ll have more freedom then you could possibly want, but there will be some rules.”

Harry didn’t look happy, but he did nod slightly noting acknowledgement.

“One, I need to know where you are at all times. I don’t need to know where you eat or shop, but I need to know where you call home and where I can reach you on short notice. I want a simple report of your status each week.

“Two, you may not enter into any legal contracts without my input. If they pertain to you personally, then I will be the final arbiter. If they pertain to the House of Potter in general, then the authority will fall to you, but I strongly suggest you retain counsel for anything you do.

“Three, you will continue your education at Hogwarts. To the extent that your Wizengamot or Lord duties interfere with your education you will choose Hogwarts. I don’t care if Lucius brings a bill to dissolve the Ministry and install a dictator. You will not interrupt your education.

“Four, I can and will add to these rules as I deem necessary up to but not beyond my legal mandate as your guardian. But only as I deem necessary.

“Do you agree to this?”

Amelia saw Harry sulking which was not becoming.

“Do I have a choice?”

“Of course. You can petition the Wizengamot again to terminate or transfer your guardianship. Your circumstances have changed sufficiently to justify reconsideration.”

“Thank you, for telling me the truth. I don’t think Dumbledore would have. I will follow your rules as best I can.”

“Thank you, Harry.”

~ diffindo ~

“I thought I would feel different.”

Susan watched as Harry gently closed the door to her room as he stepped inside. She wasn’t ready to move on, but Harry was in desperate need of a friend and Susan Bones was currently uniquely in a position to be that for him. And maybe if she could return their relationship to something approximating friendship, maybe things would start to feel normal and fun again.

“Did you work out everything with Auntie Em?”

Harry made non-committal nod that bounced from his left to his right.

“Is there anything I can do? I could talk to Em for you.”

He shook his head before sitting down in front of her dresser. It was odd to think that Harry Potter had a usual spot in her room.

“Your aunt just has some rules she wants me to follow. I don’t think they’ll bother me.”

Susan scooted off the bed into a mirrored cross-legged position facing Harry.

“Well, okay, then what do you want to talk about?”

“I thought I would feel different.”

“You said that first. What do you mean?”

“Shouldn’t I feel empowered or have some swell of confidence. I am a Lord of the Wizengamot. The words don’t seem to register. I thought...”

“... that something would shift inside you? That you would be a different person?”

“Not different... just more...”

“Harry, the lords and ladies are just people. In fact they spend most of their time maintaining the image that they are more than that.”

Harry’s eyes finally betrayed his feelings. They were wide and wanting. He looked lost.

“I’m scared, Susan.”

“Why? You don’t have to do anything with your position. If it proves to be too much for you, then you can just delegate your responsibilities.”

“I’m not any good at that, Susan.”

Susan reached out put her hand of Harry’s in a show of support. She opened her mouth to issue her assurance, but the words caught in her throat. The room spun about and the world drained away around her. It was replaced by an empty black void. Her mind reeled without sensory input.

It was dark, but shapes were already fading back into view. The disorientation continued to grip her and was buttressed by a pounding sense of fear. Her mind twisted inside out.

Where was Mummy?

Mummy always came when they called.

Susan grabbed the bars that held them and peeked over the top. Their cry quieted as they saw Mummy rush into the room.

Mummy belonged to them. Mummy was safe. Mummy was comfort.

How should they feel now? They felt odd. They were two separate parts. Why were they two?

They looked to Mummy’s face. Mummy was scared. Susan was scared. Fix it, Mummy. I want to be happy.

There was shouting. The noise was unintelligible. It was scary. Something was at the door behind Mummy. She turned. It was scary. Protect us, Mummy. There was a flash of startling green colour. Mummy was falling.

Where was Mummy going? Protect us, Mummy.

There was an unfamiliar man. They didn’t know him. He was scary. He was pointing something sharp. There was a high pitched noise that sounded like their voice when they were very scared.

Screaming. It was screaming.

The green glow expanded to fill Susan’s field of vision.

They were scared.

She trembled as her hand broke contact with Harry’s. Her breath came in short bursts as she found herself once again in her room sitting just as she had been.

“Harry... what happened?”

But even as Susan gained control of herself she saw that Harry had not. He was quietly crying and he still did not seem to see her. He must still be there.

“Harry! I’m here. Look at me.”

He turned his face to her. He focused on her.

“I’m sorry... Susan... I didn’t...”

“What was that, Harry?”

“I think... that was the night my parents...”

“How?”

“I don’t know. You saw it too?”

Susan nodded solemnly.

Harry’s face hardened into anger.

“See! This is why I need Occlumency. I can’t handle whatever this is.”

“Okay Harry, but not tonight. Tomorrow. Try to get some rest first.”

Harry got up and was halfway out the door. She was still processing what she had seen. Harry had seen that as a child and remembered it... at least on some level. What must that have been like? Susan hadn’t witnessed her parents’ death. She didn’t know how to feel.

“I’m sorry, Harry.”

~ diffindo ~

The crazy bitch had been gone for only ten minutes, but as volatile as she was Bellatrix Lestrange had a routine. Peter knew that he had no more than an hour before she returned, but she had never been early. So this was his best chance.

He relived the horrific memory as he reflexively attempted to lick his lips. His mouth felt oddly numb without the tactile feedback from his tongue. His words were his best weapon and she had stolen them from him.

Crazy bitch.

Fortunately, for all her power Bellatrix did not harbour the same mastery of magic as Peter. Her bindings were strong but crude... and predictable. He’d been working through the cipher of entangled wards. He was sure he could get through them in time.

His hands were bound and a suppression rune had stopped his typical escape. The form of a rat my be unappealing, but it was useful. Yet Peter was quite accomplished in wandless magic and that included forming spells without gesture.

He bowed his head and began muttering in the charter language. The words, similar but much older than Latin, fumbled from his broken voice, but incantation was—usually—about mindset. He imagined his fingers gently picking through the threads of Bella’s binding wards. He was careful not to vibrate any of them, but this was not particularly difficult because her casting was so indelicate.

He could visualize the net that held him. He slowly swapped one fibre and then another as though he was undoing a braid. His head rocked back and forth as his navigated the web of interlocking bonds.

One final twist and he was free of the first of... four layers. The first was the hardest and not five minutes later he was again able to move his hands. Unfortunately, the rune would not be so easily removed. She had carved it into the skin of his back.

He had to get out of here. He didn’t know where he was, but anywhere was better than here.

There was no wand anywhere near, but with his hands free he could use signs and alternative gestures to cast well enough. First, he needed a scan of the room. Bellatrix was a blunt weapon, but she wasn’t stupid. There would be other trips throughout the room.

There were a few, but they were juvenile. He quickly dispatched them and stepped out of his prison and down a short corridor. The walls were rock, so he must be underground. The corridor ended in an small alcove that held nothing other than a book.

There was no obvious exit.

After a short inspection, Peter opened the book. He had heard the Dark Lord speak of these, but he had never seen one. It was a specialized portkey. He couldn’t remember what it was called, but the key aspect is that unlike the majority of portkeys, this one was entirely self contained—not administered from the Ministry. The transit endpoints were carefully encoded in the book with a detailed charter description of the destination.

All he had to do was touch the page.

The image on the page showed him a nondescript office. Like the back room of a shop, but it could be a lie.

But anywhere was better than here. He had to survive. That was all that mattered. That was all that had mattered for a very long time.

As Peter lay his hand on the page, he felt the familiar pull of a port key. However, to his terror he felt the rune on his back flare painfully. He had trigged something. Not in the port key but in the rune.

He screamed as he body was torn asunder. He was in several places at once, and yet he wasn’t moving. It wasn’t working.

The tortuousness eased as he become one physical unit again. He was still alive. Where was he? This was the prison room again. Well he would just have to try again.

He stepped forward—

He tried to step forward. His leg was stuck.

Peter glanced down and gathered all his composure not to faint. His feet, up to his ankles, were buried in the rock. His breath came in rapid gasps. His feet might be merged with the rock.

That crazy fucking bitch!

~ diffindo ~

Fri. 26 July

“Are you sure you want to do this, Harry? What if it causes another episode?”

Susan could see Harry’s reaction to her concerned expression. They were again situated on her floor. The votive was alight.

“I don’t think it will be the same if I am trying to do it. I want to control it. There are memories of my parents still stored in my brain. I want to access them and, right now, it seems like you and I have found a way to do that.”

“I thought you wanted to stop the memories.”

“Last night, I did. But I thought about it more and I think facing them would be better.”

“Harry, I think we should talk to someone first. Maybe Auntie Em knows a professional how could help you.”

The wide look of disapproval on Harry’s face made it clear that it wasn’t on the table.

“I... I need to do this with someone I trust.”

Susan felt warm at the sentiment, but simultaneously a little cold. He obviously _trusted_ Ginny more than he trusted her.

“Okay, Harry, but it took a lot out of me last night. I may have to stop. Let’s start with some basic practice with holding hands before we dive in.”

Sue took a deep breath finally breaking eye contact with those _trusting_ green eyes to look into the shuddering flame contained within its glass walls. It struggled to breathe in enough air to survive. But the walls also protected it from dangerous winds that aimed to blow it out. Sitting on a narrow balance between life and oblivion.

‘My name is Susan.’

‘I am sixteen years old.’

‘My life is not my own.’

‘My story is not yet told.’

The mind that knew itself as Susan Bones settled into the void that stood threshold to the mindscape. She entered without knocking. She hadn’t told Harry this—because he hadn’t described anything similar—but when she descended far enough into her mind she arrived in a small town. It was similar to the village near the house where her family spent the summer. The details fuzzed and shifted. The irrelevancies floated in indeterminacy. It wasn’t like reality. Only the things that mattered had any permanence, and even they would slip away if left untended.

She found Harry in the small one room visitors centre that stood at the edge of the village. It must be the easiest way to conceive of another mind penetrating her own private space.

She opened the door and in comforting form he was there examining the various displays and information pamphlets. Each one fuzzed out when he set it down only remaining concrete for the moments that he examined it. Susan couldn’t read the one he was holding though. The letters seemed morph and defy analysis. Whatever he was learning, she apparently didn’t get to see what it was.

“Hi, Harry.”

She had spoken this out load. She could tell because the sound of her voice did not sound as it should in the visitors centre, but rather as it should in her small bedroom.

“Do you sense me, Harry?”

Harry flitted in and out of her mindscape as he, presumably, fought to keep his focus. As they had practised, they had gotten better at focusing on the internal mind and the external world simultaneously. Well, sometimes... kind of.

“Yes.”

His answer was curt and short. Harry seemed to struggle more with balancing the real world with a the feedback simulation of his own mind. According to ‘Occlumency’, which Susan had held onto after Harry had finished reading the parts he was interested in, her mindscape was exactly that—an attempt of her mind to model itself. The process was by nature imperfect, but had great utility to one who mastered the technique. She had not though. Not even close.

‘Come’

It was one sense that they had negotiated. She saw him walk towards her. It was odd, because he didn’t see her—not really—but she imagined that he did.

Susan and Harry went through their exercises sending impressions and basic thoughts back and forth. Small numbers and concepts. Still nothing even symbolic. When both were satisfied that they were well settled in their minds Susan spoke to Harry again.

“Okay, Harry, show me the way.”

And Susan held out her hand to the avatar of her friend. As he reached back and gently took it, Susan felt a very warm and very real hand taking her own. And then everything around her shifted. It was at once drastic and subtle. The village was the same, but different parts were fuzzed.

This was no longer her mindscape. It was her way of seeing his.

Harry opened the door to the visitors centre and stepped out into the village. They walked and quickly found themselves at the entrance to the Beachhead Inn. It was the hotel. It should have been a good twenty minute walk, but time and distance flexed.

It made sense... the hotel was how she modelled her memory. The ground floor was current events and matters of immediate import. As the floor numbers rose, so too did the distance into her past each floor more forgotten and neglected than the next.

Susan felt Harry’s unease. Memories weren’t as simple as floors and doors. So the model failed in that way. Sometimes the most potent memories were the oldest and sometimes the most important were the most forgotten.

They stepped into the elevator which was standing with its doors open on the first floor not even needing a call. Harry’s fingers played up and down the control panel. He didn’t know where to start. There was no fixed number to the buttons just an approximate relative position.

“Just take us anywhere to start, Harry.”

The elevator began to move and Susan realized that she didn’t have enough insight to know where or when he was taking them. The ride was shorter than the average, and soon the doors opened to a straight and seemingly unending hallway.

Harry walked down the corridor looking left and right as doors passed on either side. Susan tried to count them, but again her mind couldn’t latch onto a number. She briefly grounded her attention in the warm hand that held hers. It was a buoy keeping her from feeling lost and adrift.

He had stopped in front of a door and before she had even noticed had his hand on the handle. Most doors didn’t have locks and this one didn’t either.

He opened the door and stepped inside. Susan followed somewhat anxious. She had no idea of what to expect next. Her generic model of Harry’s memory would crumble when she faced the details.

The threshold felt cold and viscous like a layer of cool gel. Ripples flowed outward from where she contacted it. She hesitated on the horizon for a moment before submerging her face and walking into the unknown.

Susan felt the inner world tumble around her. She lost all sense of up and down, of any direction at all, time seemed immeasurable. The first sense that began to return was scent. It was a heady perfume, excessively applied. It pored into her nasal passages. Then came a sense of a loose, shaggy carpet or rug between her toes. They were sitting.

The darkness began to lighten. Colour invaded. One particular colour. Pink. It felt uncomfortably warm, stifling. Details began to resolve. This was a room. A small room, with a fireplace alight.

Then finally hearing kicked into play. They could here the soft mewling of many cats, and before she saw the saccharin office of Dolores Umbridge materialize she knew exactly where she was. Susan steeled herself knowing that any interaction with the inquisitor was bound to have been torture.

Susan was later surprised at how right she had been.

Every thing was still hazy as though they were looking out through a loosely weaved blanket and the sound was muffled. But what wasn’t muffled was the spear of pain that incised her hand. She glanced down at it and saw blood ooze from the wound in her hand.

_I must not tell lies._

Harry had obviously been writing for a while. Her hand... his hand... their hand... throbbed with pain. And then she recoiled as the inquisitors hand rested on her shoulder. The vile woman leaned in and caught their eyes. Hers burned with intensity.

“Deep down, you know that you deserve to be punished. Don’t you?”

Susan did not see, or hear, or feel in the traditional manner; but she perceived the depth to which these words carved themselves into Harry’s heart.

He believed them.

Susan clamoured up from the chair. Umbridge did not react. She ran in a panic to the office door. Grabbed the handle, threw it open, and heard the gentle ding and the sound of elevator doors closing behind her.

Her breath was fast with terror. She looked to her hand and saw that the scarred words were not there. Then she looked to her other hand which still captured his. He was still with her.

She saw the letters traced on the back of his hand. She looked to his face which was calm and reassuring. She was putting that look there. They were back in the safety of her model.

She squeezed his hand and while the avatar of Harry didn’t respond. The very real hand, the anchor, did.

They began down the hall again.

~ diffindo ~

Alastor Moody had been vigilant. He had taken all precautions to prevent the worst case scenario. But Albus had always been able to defeat him at chess. So here he was, facing inevitable doom. An unavoidable and guaranteed fate of death or worse.

“Why do you look so grim, Alastor?”

He saw the obscured smug smile that peeked from behind Minerva McGonagall’s professional veneer.

“It would seem that I am to be sacrificed. I would have refused this request from anyone else, ma’am.”

“Alastor, Defence Against the Dark Arts has been taught in Hogwarts for generations and I have no intention of breaking that tradition now. You _are_ the natural choice. You are well versed, well respected, and the students are already familiar with you.”

“Not me, Minerva. Barty Crouch in the form of my body perhaps. But not me.”

“I’m sure they’ll barely notice.”

Alastor harrumphed and could not help a mirthful chuckle at how much Minerva was enjoying this.

“The curse is no joke, Minerva.”

“Mr. Moody. There is not now, nor has there ever been a curse on the position of defense professor. It’s all rumours. Hogwarts would know.”

“I don’t know. It seems to me as Hogwarts is quite successful at hiding loads of secrets.”

“Yes, well... I should hope to resolve that, but...”

“Ahh, don’t get your thinking cap in a twist. Albus asked me, so I’ll see it through. And if I survive the year, then you’ll see me for another.”

Minerva visibly relaxed. That would be one of her biggest problems solved.

~ diffindo ~

“I understand, Headmistress. Why did you wish me to know?”

Minerva couldn’t read Severus. But then... no one could read Severus and that was kind of the point.

“It’s no secret that you’ve desired a placement as instructor of Defence Against the Dark Arts. Honestly, had Albus not made arrangements as part of his will, I would have turned to you. But perhaps it is best that you stay on as Hogwarts’ Potions Master. It will provide a modicum of continuity to the students.”

Severus’s dark eyes bored into her. Minerva was very confident in her mental blocks, but it was difficult not to doubt under his intense gaze.

“I will not be staying on. I had a debt to pay to the Headmaster, but now that debt is as paid as it will ever be. I have other matters that I must now attend to.”

“What?! Why are you just telling me this now?”

“I felt it more professional then simply not arriving at the start of term.”

That is not what she meant and he knew it.

“Severus, Hogwarts needs you. Now more than ever.”

He inclined his chin and the scowl of disdain deepened notably.

“I have _done_ my bit. And, again with respect, I will not be staying on.”

The room hung in silence as Minerva waited for Severus to explain knowing full well that he would not.

“Where will you go?”

“Home.”

“Really? Back to spinner’s end?”

“That place has not been my home for a long time.”

“Then where, Severus, Hogwarts is your home.”

“I am going to find Lily.”

“Ms. Potter has been dead for more than a decade, Severus. Her murderer is dead. You must find a way to move on. You’ve let it consume you for too long.”

“I _will_ join Lily.”

Minerva sat back realizing that he wasn’t speaking metaphorically.

“Severus, I don’t know what I can say to you, but please don’t take your life. It won’t bring you closer to Lily.”

Severus Snape laughed. It was a dark overburdened laugh.

“You needn’t worry about me any longer Minerva. I have no plans to harm myself.”

Snape rose and turned to the staircase to exit the headteacher’s tower.

“Then I don’t understand.”

“You’ll have my official notice in writing by the end of the day.”

~ diffindo ~

The Lord’s angel of darkness—his kiss of poison fangs—was giddy. So many days had passed since the Lord began his slumber that Bellatrix Lestrange had begun to sense the precursors of doubt enter the back of her touched mind. She quashed them as any dutiful acolyte must, but her usual cheerful presence had escaped her.

Today’s work had cured her. The goblins, as wretched as they be, were reliably easy to manipulate. Some coins, a passing threat, and dropping her family names here and there and she was royalty. The Lady Lestrange could not simply stride into Gringotts as should be her right. But now she had that pathetic gremlin wrapped around her finger.

What was his name?

She smirked wider as she realized she remembered not. No matter. The syndicate would bow to the glory of the Dark Lord. None could stand against his will and survive.

Bellatrix delicately retracted her hand from the page of the travelogue examining the front and back of her hand and wiggling her fingers as if she was surprised to have possession of them. She could not conceive the transcendent reasons behind her behaviours. Her mind had been touched by the Lord and thus lay beyond her own understanding.

Her mirth failed when she noticed that all her wards had been disengaged.

No. The cursed and damned must not escape these depths. That defiled rodent must never again see the light of day. Failure was sin, and sin was death. She had his notes. They seemed complete, but no matter even if they be false. The Lord would provide. His infinite wisdom would have foreseen even this circumstance.

She turned the corner into the dungeon and stopped. Her head toppled back and she voiced a hearty and well-deserved cackle at the very appropriate state of the condemned. In an instant her joy had returned, this was better than she had planned.

“You seem to have found yourself in a predicament.”

He just stared at her with petulance. He still thought he deserved to live. How pathetic. He had not spoken a word to her since she had relieved him of voice.

“No matter. I have laid my plans. Soon the pillar of eternity will be in my possession and swiftly thereafter I shall find myself in _his_ possession.”

She sauntered carefully over to the suffering form of Peter Pettigrew. She slowly raised her hand and caressed his right ear and cheek. She leaned in placed her lips mere inches from his. His eyes were captured in her affectionate gaze. Her voice came breathy.

“I was going to give you clean death. You were a useful servant to the Lord after all. It would have been quick... and easy. I would have taken all of you... all of your pain.”

Bellatrix leaned away in disappointment.

“But it seems that you don’t want that from me. You seem to wish to go your own way. I can respect that. I will leave you to your own devices as you clearly wish.”

Peter made a panicked wailing noise as the angel of darkness turned from him taking with her his last hope. She could sense his dread. His legs were part of the cavern now. He would be realizing just how merciful she could have been.

She frowned as she reached the entrance and turned back. His eyes were delicious. He still had some hope. She mustn’t leave him like this. He would die of thirst in just a few days.

Bellatrix walked back to were Peter was sunk into the floor and tapped a nearby crack with her wand.

“Aguamenti”

A small almost sad flow of water emerged from the crack. Peter looked to the floor and then back to her with eyes that lacked understanding.

“It would not do for you to thirst.”

She turned again and this time did not stop until she had lain her hand upon the page of the travelogue. She regretted not seeing him die, but resolved to return some years later and see the result of her work. It was better this way. Now he would take weeks to die.

~ diffindo ~

Susan felt the returning tug pulling them back to the elevator doors before the words had even stopped echoing in their mind.

‘Yer a wizard, Harry!’

After experiencing the trauma of Dolores Umbridge, Harry had led Susan deeper into his memory, up several floors, and too far down the corridor to track. He clearly didn’t want to see any of that again and he _was_ looking for his parents. Susan couldn’t really follow the ups and downs, but Harry had brought her to another door.

“Are you okay, Harry?”

A moment passed after the words were eaten by the soft walls of Susan’s bedroom.

“Yeah. The night when Hagrid came for me was one of the best of my life—though at the time it was terrifying.”

As Susan descended into Harry’s next memory she was astounded by how much of each memory she able to experience. Their intentional communications during occlumency practice had been and remained crude. But the memories were so deep—not really vivid—but immersive.

They heard the music first. Then they saw the Hogwarts stairs. This was the Yule Ball. Susan remembered it well. She’d wanted to ask Seamus, but he’d already made plans with Lavender Brown. Susan had ultimately gone with Justin—who had been pleasant and kind enough, but...

They were standing with Ron Weasley presumably waiting for their dates. Susan couldn’t remember who Harry had attended with, but she did remember seeing the pair sitting dejectedly to the side of the party, but that had been later than this. Unidentifiable people—people Harry didn’t really remember—were milling about. The party hadn’t begun yet.

“Hello, boys.”

The stereo words of the Patil twins echoed behind her and Susan turned to look at Parvati who was looking her over with an assessment that was far more positive than the glance that Ronald received from Padme.

Susan was about to usher Parvati into the hall to prepare for the first dance that they had just be informed they would be starring in. This wasn’t a bothersome prospect for Susan, but it seemed that Harry was nervous. So they were inappropriately and quite conspicuously staring at Cho when they heard Parvati speak with a low voice of disbelief.

“She looks beautiful.”

Harry took longer to pick up on the words than Susan did, but when their eyes turned they locked onto a view that took their breath away.

Susan hadn’t seen Hermione up close during the ball. She hadn’t been part of the champion party and so she and Justin had stayed clear. Hermione was beautiful and she could feel her heart—Harry’s heart—which had fluttered while glancing at Cho suddenly thud with increased force and pace.

She could feel Harry’s heart and knew at once that she shouldn’t be allowed this. It was personal and wrong. Susan had had no idea that Harry had ever felt this way about his closest female friend. But she now knew that Harry had fallen—just a little bit—for Hermione this night. And then they calmed themselves.

Harry suspected how Ronald felt about Hermione.

Harry knew that Cho could see him.

Harry knew that he should not treat Parvati as a second thought.

And Harry knew that Hermione would never look to him the way he was looking upon her in this short minute.

And so—as immediately as Harry Potter had fallen in love with Hermione Granger—he had just as quickly boxed those feeling in a storage container he would never open.

Susan wanted Harry to look at her like this, but she knew better. And this wasn’t the memory he was looking for.

“Just a minute.”

Susan somehow spoke these words from Harry’s mouth and stumbled to the lavatory just off the great hall. She remembered just in the last moment to use the men’s and not the ladies’.

They stepped through the door and back into the hotel hallway with the elevator doors closing quietly behind them.

“Harry... are you sure you want to—”

But before Susan could finish Harry had stepped up to another door and thrown it open.

~ diffindo ~

They were in the defense classroom at Hogwarts.

Ron was dispatching a boggart in spider form and Harry was next in line. As Susan felt their wand rise, there was a moment in which the form of the boggart could be seen. The boggarts target would always know a few moments before what the fear would be.

The dementors flashed through their mind. The hideous deformed faces and bone chilling cold terrified both of them.

Voldemort came to the fore. Susan had never seen the man, but in this memory he was an ophidian face emerging gut churningly from the back of a skull.

But Harry’s worst fear ran much deeper than that. As the boggart took its final form, Susan learned that abstract fears were far more difficult to cope with. A raven cloaked skeleton extended a bony hand to point at Harry. A emerald green light swirled around the figure casting an eerie light upon the classroom. The figure’s jaw dropped open and a woman’s death scream bled from its maw.

It was his depiction of death-—personified—and dressed in the accoutrements of his past that haunted his dreams.

Green light.

A woman’s scream.

Harry feared death and he had learned it very young.

The reaper stepped towards them. A green light began to focus at the tip of its outstretched finger. Susan tried to lift their wand arm—to cast the counter jinx—but they were frozen in place. It was just a boggart, but they didn’t know what would happen if that finger touched their body.

Still they could not move. She searched for a word to understand their current state and came back with ‘transfixed’.

As the finger came within a foot, the welcome sight of Professor Lupin interposing himself between them and the ghoulish wraith paused Susan’s panic.

A beat passed as death cocked its head perplexedly to the side. And then the whole class was looking at the moon—suspended in the air. This was the last thing that Harry and Susan saw as their vision closed in around them. They were passing out.

~ diffindo ~

“Susan. Susan!”

Harry’s voice stirred Susan’s mind. She opened her eyes and looked into concerned green emeralds. They were the very colour that he feared. She carefully sat up in her bedroom. She had slumped over to the side.

“What happened?”

Harry shook his head.

“Are you okay? That was really scary.”

“I think I’m okay, but I think I need a break from this.”

Harry was horrified with himself.

“I’m so sorry, Susan. I didn’t think that would happen.”

“It’s okay, Harry. I’m fine—really.”

He sat back down apparently satisfied that she was in no immediate danger and together the two sat and caught their breath.

“You didn’t find what you wanted did you.”

He shook his head dejectedly.

“It was a stupid idea.”

“No, it was a good idea we just weren’t ready for. We’ll be better prepared next time.”

His eyes brightened.

“Next time?”

Susan wasn’t as convinced as she sounded. Something was very odd about their connection. It shouldn’t be as deep given their skill and Harry seemed to be having unusual success uncovering traumatic memories—or perhaps it was better seen as failure, but something just seemed wrong about it. The piece of Susan that mirrored her aunt’s investigative spirit would not let her mind rest if she didn’t seek out the truth.

“Yes, next time.”

“Thank you! I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

As he closed the door on his way out, Susan shook her head lightly and whispered to the confidence of her bedroom.

“Hermione? Really...?”


	6. Contrivance

# CONTRIVANCE

[misericordiam.net](http://misericordiam.net)

Sat. 27 July

“Neville! How are you?”

Harry found himself very happy to see his friend. He felt a twinge of guilt as he realized that he had been so absorbed in his own affairs that Neville and his obstacles had slipped Harry’s attention. Despite all that he had endured Neville still couldn’t accept a compliment without blushing.

“You look great!”

“Thanks, Harry. I’ve been feeling a lot better. I just wish I could make it up to all of you... especially Hannah.”

He hadn’t thought often of Hannah and Neville—he really was a terrible friend.

“How are things going?”

Neville was always bashful and shrank from attention, but though one could never blush deeply enough to match the Gryffindor red, he got close.

“Things have been nice. Hannah has been good to me.”

Harry wanted to hear more about it. Amid the stress of his constantly extraordinary circumstances, a bit of normalcy would be a blessing. He raised his eyebrows to ask for more.

“I didn’t mean it like that, Harry. I mean, it kind of is like that, but I would never... I mean I would love to, but it wouldn’t be right—”

“It’s okay Neville. I wasn’t implying anything. I just wondered if—since she’s been staying with you and your Gran for so long now—if things might have solidified.”

Neville genuine smile of warmth at the thought made Harry a little jealous. The relationship between Hannah and Neville seemed so natural and easy... intuitive. He wasn’t intuitive at all. Not if Ginny was any indicator—or Susan for that matter.

“I don’t really know why, but Hannah’s stayed.”

“I’m sure you would have done the same for her.”

Neville rolled his eyes.

“I don’t think it would have been very appropriate the other way. It probably wasn’t appropriate for her to care for me the way she did... but I’m so glad she did. I mean she still is really—caring for me.”

A beat of awkward silence floated between them before Neville changed the subject.

“So I hear you’re in a rush with the whole Lord thing. I don’t think Gran understood just how urgent your training would need to be.”

“I didn’t either. Honestly, Neville, I’m still not sure it was a good idea. I don’t have a clue what I am supposed to be doing. And proving that fate has a sense of humour, the only person who seems both ready and willing to help is Pansy Parkinson.”

Neville’s smile dissipated rather slowly.

“Yeah. Harry, you need to be very careful around her.”

“I... I know. But I actually think I can trust her—at least about this—the lord thing, I mean.”

“Come on, Harry, Parkinson’s whole mission has been making people miserable. Being the centre of attention and the key piece in every bit of drama that infected Hogwarts.”

Harry nodded. On the one hand Neville was absolutely right. But on the other Harry was sure that something had changed for Pansy. And he remembered that closet full of dreams that she had boxed away. It must be excruciating to live a life of masks.

“I’ll be careful.”

“When have you ever been careful?”

“Touché.”

~ diffindo ~

“So Hannah, spill. I want all the sordid details. I know you. You’ve found ways to get Neville alone and—”

“Susan, please! What kind of girl do you take me for?”

Hannah sat up from lazing on Susan’s bed. She always seemed to take up residence there.

“The kind that thought daring me to kiss Justin was an idea of fun.”

“That was first year... no, my lips are sealed.”

Susan made an appearance of pouting. It was meant to be funny, but deep down she _was_ disappointed. It wasn’t as if she was getting romance first hand... or lips. A little vicarious enjoyment would have been nice.

“Susan, I actually came because I have a plan.”

Hannah got that wide devilish grin that always precipitated the management of much mischief.

“Neville’s birthday is on Tuesday. I want to make it a big celebration. He’s never really done anything in the past and I think it would be good for him to practice being around a din of people. And I was thinking that—”

“Harry! We could throw them both a party and use Harry as an excuse to get Neville to participate?”

“Exacto.”

Susan’s mood soured slightly. She sat down next to Hannah’s knees.

“It’s a good idea. I don’t know that I would be much help.”

“Well of course not. You’re practically useless...”

Hannah gave Susan the I’m-not-doing-the-moping-Susan-thing look.

“I figured you probably would be the better person to contact Hermione about it.”

Of course. If they threw a party for Harry then Hermione and little princess Weasley would need to be invited.

“Yeah. I can probably manage that. We’ll want to schedule time to get together and plan things formally. I take it this is supposed to be a surprise.”

“Sort of. I’ll tell Neville shortly beforehand. Having everyone jump out and yell surprise is probably still not a good idea.”

Susan nodded. Maybe they couldn’t surprise Neville properly, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t get the better of Harry. He totally deserved it.

“Lady Augusta has been asking after you. You haven’t been to any sessions in a few weeks now. Your Mum’s been covering for you... you know... Susan-needs-to-be-a-teenager kind of crap. No one’s buying it.”

Hannah knew Susan far too well. It was often a blessing and just as often a curse. She had no clarity as to how this instance would be classified.

“You know why... you don’t really need me to tell you, do you?”

“I wasn’t suggesting that you make a ballad out of it, but it isn’t really like you to mope about boys.”

She hadn’t really made ‘boys’ part of her life. And that’s not really what she had been doing with Harry.

“I’ll come to the chamber this week.”

Hannah shook her head in disbelief. And popped a pointed finger against Susan’s forehead as if testing if anything was really behind it.

“Session’s closed for July... remember. The August session doesn’t open until the seventh as usual.”

She playfully swatted the offending hand away.

“Fine. Then, I’ll be back at the start of the session.”

Hannah took a deep breath and lay down relaxing her diaphragm as she impacted the mattress.

“Was it weird for you too?”

“Was what weird?”

“Watching Harry turned into a Lord. I mean, it was all just sort of academic before.”

“He’s not technically a Lord. Not yet. Well... I guess he technically is, but he won’t be seated until the open of the session.”

Hannah raised her eyebrows.

“You’re deflecting. Look, I’ll flip my cards. I’m scared witless. I’m not ready for that kind of responsibility and I don’t see how I ever will be.”

“You’ve got plenty of time. Your uncle isn’t looking forward to dying and leaving your idiot cousins at the head of your house. And honestly I can’t imagine the Wizengamot without Auntie Em. We’ve got time.”

Hannah sighed again.

“Yeah, I suppose your right.”

~ diffindo ~

It just wasn’t the right time. Fleur was French and Bill was... a Weasley. She would never accept his proposal unless it was ostentatious, public, and perfect. Like she was. Bill knew he was mere beast to her beauty, but her smile lit a fire in his heart and gave his life a purpose and direction that he had never felt before. She was a pole star... his bright Polaris.

And like the stars of the sky, when she burned, she burned hot. She was still angry, but—and she knew this—she shined most beautifully in indignation. She could—and had—brought men to their knees with her scorn. Perhaps that was why she had taken to him. No matter how unbearable her disapproval, his love resided in a crucible and could only temper in her fire.

He had the ring. It had cost him dearly, but it needed to... that was the point... right?

~ diffindo ~

“I think you should consider just kissing him again.”

“What?! You’re just trying to distract me.”

Hermione _was_ trying to distract Ginny. She was far too formidable to face head on, so the head game was a key part of keeping the field balanced. but it was also an honest suggestion.

“Seriously, he’s obviously completely into you. He just didn’t say anything when you kissed him, which is awkward—maybe kind of cute... right? And definitely a dumb reason for you to ignore this... thing that you have.”

Hermione cast a round of simple stinging hexes. She’d been trying different patterns—looking for a geometry that was difficult for Ginny to deflect. But Ginny’s athletic form—her toned muscles and lithe motions—always seemed to stretch to meet her demands. She was good at making things stretch to meet her demands.

“I can’t Hermione. I don’t know which one, but it must break one of of those dating rules. If he wants it, he’s going to have to come and get it.”

Ginny cast her standard double-slice followed by a bludger back at Hermione. The trick to this particular combo was to absorb the slicers and dodge the bludger, because it wasn’t possible to dodge both and the bludgeon knocked her nearly out. Hermione knew this because she’d let it happen more than once. The feeling her brain granted her as it shut down was incomparable.

“But really... if he came to you—you’d be open to it? Even after...”

She stopped to dodge and parry back.

“You mean after he left, Hermione... again!”

Hermione didn’t respond immediately, she was busy gathering her magic in her feet. Ginny was concentrating her magic and that always meant something ‘elemental’ was coming. That was what the champion of the bat bogey had been working on.

“Okay, yes! Yes, I am still interested, but I don’t exactly know why.”

A jet of water left the tip of Ginny’s wand and accelerated toward a now crouching Hermione. It was fast and if Hermione weren’t already shielded it could be quite dangerous. She released the magic that had gathered in her toes and heels and felt the pull as she left the floor and sailed a good six feet into the air. The surprised look on Ginny’s face was totally worth how much it was going to hurt when she landed. She hadn’t practised that part yet.

Hermione flipped mid-air and cast a freezing spell back down onto Ginny’s spear of water quickly ending its forward trajectory. The water froze right up to Ginny’s wand and the newly solid weight brought her wand down and out of her hand as the giant spear of ice shattered on the floor.

~ diffindo ~

Ceannara always got curious when the young pair with the fake names came in. The walls of the arena were specially warded to absorb or reflect almost any kind of magic—a safety measure—and while this pair rarely approached the tolerances, they did _sometimes_ and that was concerning enough. Not to mention the sounds.

So the elder Dunbar had given up all pretence of providing them the privacy they were paying for. Not to get her wrong of course, she kept everything she saw very much to herself.

But when ‘Jean’ launched into the air and pulled off a pinpoint glacius midflight... well Ceannara was impressed. Fay had been quite confident that no member of her year and no member of her house—except maybe the first years—was named Jean. They might have been from a lesser school except for the feats each had pulled off.

She froze with fright briefly as she noticed that they had broken from their session and were already headed out of the arena. She quickly cancelled the scrying spell and turned to greet them.

~ diffindo ~

Ginny was troubled. She and Hermione were walking from the gym—or whatever it was—to a public floo station. Her feelings always got the better of her when she was heated and these sparring sessions with Hermione always got her heated. She shouldn’t have told Hermione about it.

“‘Mione, please don’t tell Harry what I said. I want it to come from him... you know.”

Hermione, glanced over with a smile that had been lingering more and more with each day and appeared more and more quickly after leaving the hospital. Ginny still refused to visit Ron with Hermione. There was no point in torturing herself, but if she convinced her friend, then she could at least go with her as far as the door.

“No promises, Gin.”

She stopped and grasped Hermione’s arm bringer her to a halt.

“I mean it, Hermione! Not a word!”

The smile was gone, but her message had gotten across.

“Okay. If that’s what you want... you know he’s completely oblivious though.”

“It’s the rules.”

“Rule two, if I am not mistaken. And you already broke it.”

~ diffindo ~

Draco’s bedroom door filled him with dread. It was a place of perpetual nightmare now. Father had been wise to ally himself with power, because power brought security, security brought opportunity, and opportunity brought power. And because all of the above brought continued existence.

The Dark Lord was not to be trifled with.

But...

Voldemort’s reign had been messy. With the dirty work doled out to the immediate circle of power, the group had been tight and nigh unbreakable. But it had been so... gratuitous.

Capture. Interrogation. Torture. Disposal...

It had all happened right there in his own bloody dining table—more bloody now than it could ever otherwise be. And Draco had witnessed too much of it. He knew what grooming looked like and what part he needed to play. To be chosen as a prodigy of the dark circle was—if not an honour—a distinction.

Capture. Interrogation. Torture. Murder.

The lucky fell to the curse of death. It was quick... supposedly painless. The unlucky... they met other fates. And some of these were painted on the back of Draco’s eyelids. As he was initiated, it was inevitable and necessary that he be made mutually culpable—equally responsible to carry the guilt.

They all blurred together. Life after life after life. Numerically the number was small—maybe a few dozen—but there were some parts of the body—inside parts—that one should not see. Most of the deaths made sense in the cold logical part of Draco’s mind that understood how the threads of power were weaved. But others—one in particular—was pointless, stupid, and evil for evil’s sake.

He let himself into his room—into the dungeon that had been his place to run from the judgement of his mother and the disappointment of his father. He had kept few items of sentimentality. Not that he didn’t have fond memories, but the subjects of such were also points of weakness. And his home—even before the rising—had not been a place for weakness.

Draco Malfoy lay down in his coffin—the bed where he must die each night and wait to see if the psychopathic god of the universe deemed him worthy of a morning.

For many weeks he had tried not sleep—to stave off the night—but his condition made him weak and unconsciousness overtook him quickly now. As his mind was swallowed by darkness, one word remained in the enclosing darkness.

Moriah...

~ diffindo ~

Sun. 28 July

Lucius’s morning routine did not involve conflict. An orderly breakfast and report of the early news and financials was an absolute prerequisite for his contentment. The scowl upon his son’s face was an unfortunate affront.

“Draco. Perhaps you have met with some portent that we should know.”

His son’s eyes remained cast at the table. Not down—that would be undignified—but offensively submissive. He was not in earnest submission to his father, but rather in mockery of it.

“No, Father.”

“Draco, I know you have difficulties, but it doesn’t excuse this insolent attitude.”

“Yes, Father.”

Lord Malfoy did not rise to anger easily, but respect of his position in the family was not—and could not become—optional.

“You will behave yourself at services with the poise and aplomb due your station.”

His only son finally met his gaze. And he could see in them the honest acknowledgement that Lucius demanded.

“Of course, Father.”

“Good.”

Narcissa was crimped and kept as always. Her perfect devotion was a testament to the effectiveness of an ordered family. She was his partner, his servant, and lover. And she excelled in all these qualities without compare. Many of Lucius’s colleagues had been seduced by the wiles of one or more mistresses. And while Lucius could see the appeal of spreading his seed wide, he also knew that such would be cracks that led to the crumble of his family and then his power.

“Narcissa, dear, have preparations for this weekend been completed? We mustn’t leave anything to chance.”

“Yes, of course dearest, the chamber was completed last week and the... accommodations are ready for this week’s... ordeal.”

She parsed her words carefully. It was one of many traits that placed his wife above those of his supposed compatriots in the Wizengamot. So many loose women speaking loosely. Eve’s curse ran deep.

“And the work crews?”

“Obliviated of course. All according to contract.”

“And the contracts?”

Narcissa elevated her head slightly. She would never slight him by even pretending to offence, but she too must protect her dignity.

“They are held under fidelis and located in the vault. Even I do not know who the secret keeper is. There is no reason at all to miss another mass, dear, on our account. Your son and I are getting by very well now.”

Draco’s soft glare spoke otherwise.

“My gift of insight tells me that you have something to share, Draco. Please, do not deprive us.”

“We should not be in the basilica at all. This family is damned. I am damned and demons should not walk in the halls of God.”

Oh, this again.

“This family is not damned. We have only done what was necessary to survive.”

Narcissa gently indicated her request to intervene to which Lucius magnanimously condescended.

“Draco, if we needed to seek the salvation of God, then the church is where we must go. But of course, you father is right. We seek not salvation, but merely to provide an example to lesser wretches for whom forgiveness is less easily found.”

Draco was silent after this.

~ diffindo ~

Millicent Bulstrode did not like the church. Or rather, it might be more honest to admit that the church would not like Millicent if they knew. If God existed then that bastard sure as fuck hated the soul that he had chosen to lock in this disgusting, nearly disfigured body. But really... it was Millicent who hated herself—hated who the church made her be.

Her mother perched like the most arrogant of peafowl, oozing the pride that Rabelais—Mill’s brother—brought to the family as he walked through the performance of confirmation. Mother loved the church, but more than that she loved the recognition of her social station. It was, perhaps, her only ungodly vice.

Despite all eyes peering upon her sibling, Mill couldn’t help but feel the all seeing eye of the church—real or not—gazing upon her with immense displeasure. This was not a place for an apostate bird whose place was in the empty sky.

Mill yearned for sanctuary—not the one where she currently sat—but of her room. The Bulstrode family had come to the tacit agreement that Millicent could do in—and with—the room as she pleased as long as the good, obedient daughter emerged each evening and for special occasions and as long as membership in the Slytherin gaggle continued.

These were the chains. The cage that—no matter how gilded—the free soul could not abide. Rab was just as caged, but he didn’t care. He was quite content in his place. It was easier that way. Mother intended him to the church and his upbringing had been entirely centred around that end goal.

It made Millicent sad and was just another reason to dislike the church.

~ diffindo ~

Pansy had almost become comfortable sitting next to her Gryffindor-cum-compatriot in the sanctuary pew. She had to continue reminding herself that it wasn’t normal and that none of her Hogwarts house would see it that way. She was already strategising how she would navigate this particular boil placed on her side by her father.

It was uncharitable... and not necessarily true. Potter had surprised her more than once. He broke all the customs of the Wizengamot, but still found a way to influence them. He had spoken naturally and—perhaps—that refreshing dullness had helped him along.

She looked over at him and pulled away—hiding her alarm—as he leaned over to whisper confidentially to her.

“You know, I’m not going to do this every week. I don’t mind it, but I also don’t need it.”

Pansy pursed her lips but relaxed back into a normal posture.

“That’s fine. Now shush, we can talk about it after the service.”

He didn’t lean back, apparently his deference to this unfamiliar environment had run its course and his brash manner was reasserting itself. Pansy sighed noticeably.

“Do all the Slytherin’s attend here?”

Pansy lowered her hand and flipped her finger in a crude and quiet incantation.

“Socium Vox”

She saw Harry pull back and shake his head as he felt the privacy spell descend upon them. She also got a sideways glance from her mother who also felt the magic hit the air. Inattentiveness during services set a bad example and Pansy knew she would hear about it afterwards.

“Yes, Harry, almost all of the old power families attend here.”

Harry turned to look at her.

“Just face forward, Harry. I shouldn’t be having a conversation in the middle of mass.”

He looked back to priest at the altar.

“It isn’t really a theological issue so much as it is an issue of social cohesiveness. The ‘right people’ attend here and go to the same social activities and are invited to the same business opportunities.”

“So it’s a way of keeping undesirables out?”

Pansy nodded subtly still facing forward.

“Exactly. There is power in numbers only when your number do not include everyone.”

“Sounds more like you’re just afraid.”

Now, she _did_ look at Harry. She was angry. She didn’t fear anyone.

“What do you mean by that?”

He stubbornly continued looking forward.

“I mean... I mean that you fear seeing that your success isn’t all of your own making. Your father employs wizards of what you would call a ‘lesser class’, right?”

“Yes. Would they be better unemployed?”

“No, but is that the only option available?”

“Harry, we can’t discuss experimental economics right now.”

“Fine.”

His face had hardened slightly. He was judging her. Well, what did he know?! He was just a foolish boy raised by common muggles. Pansy brooded until Harry began glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.

She hadn’t released the privacy charm. She didn’t want the conversation to end this way. She felt like she had lost stature in his estimation. But why should Pansy Parkinson care what he thought?

“When you said that you didn’t need this...”

She indicated the idea of the church with a nod toward the apse.

“... what did you mean? Please tell me you’re not an atheist. That’s not great in government, Harry.”

Harry frowned and creased his brow slightly.

“How do you define ‘atheist’?”

“Come on, Potter, it means a person who believes that God doesn’t exist.”

Harry nodded.

“Then no, I am not an atheist.”

Pansy let out a quiet breath of relief. Navigating that pothole would have been a nightmare.

“So you are a believer?”

He stopped in thought again.

“Not really... no. I can’t call myself a believer.”

Harry Potter’s political adviser-to-be was losing her composure in the middle of church. Her angry voice came out in a pushy whisper.

“It has to be one or the other! Either you believe or you don’t.”

“Sure, I agree with that.”

“Then...?”

“Just because I don’t think God exists doesn’t mean that I think he doesn’t.”

Pansy was dying to challenge that heap of nonsense when she caught her mother out of the corner of eye. The glance had become a glare and so she finally released the privacy spell and turned her attention back to the service. Harry cooperated and let the rest of the service pass in silence.

~ diffindo ~

Draco had many demons; but on this day and in this pew, the only sorrow that whispered in his heart was the emptiness that had been created by the soul two pews back. The one that was now sitting next to Potter. He would have been jealous, but Pansy wasn’t stupid enough to actually like Potter—she was vindictive, though, enough to know how much it would hurt him...

Either way. Malfoy wondered if she ever thought of him. And if she did, was it ever fondly. He kept rewinding time to the night where he had ruined everything. He had failed her in the most profound way. It had been worse then failure. The burden of these thoughts led him to prayer.

‘God, protect her. Heal her. Make her life what it should be. I don’t have anything to offer you. My soul is black and dead. Unredeemable. So I’ll tell you what. Keep her safe. And I’ll go quietly. Don’t, and I’ll commit my life to corrupting as many as I can on my road to hell.’

He didn’t know what he was expected. Part of him hoped to be smote right in the pew. Part of him hoped for an emergent knowledge that Pansy would be safe. But most of Draco... most of Draco got exactly what he expected.

Silence.

That was the way of it. It always had been. Knowledge consumed faith. So faith only blossomed when the glory of God was hidden from the eyes of man. What Draco didn’t know and what bothered him greatly was a simple question.

What did God need with faith?

~ diffindo ~

Susan thought Ginny’s bedroom was very quaint. And not in a vindictive, judgy way. It was nice. A light breeze drifted in through the window. Luckily it wasn’t quite as hot as it had been. Climate control magicks were expensive and it was clear that the Burrow had been designed—if such a word could ever apply to the Burrow—to manage airflow without the need for magical assistance.

“I think it bodes well that I was about to contact you about the same thing. I think having a party is a great idea. Though I will say that Harry’s been a touch odd lately. I think he’s trying to avoid something.”

Some one, actually.

As Hermione’s eyes glanced over towards Ginny, Susan remembered what Harry had said about her. She still resented the youngest Weasley for her petulance and fickle treatment of Harry’s advances. Well... actually... the way he had described it, it had been her own advances. She clearly felt entitled to his favour.

“It isn’t going to be a problem, is it?”

Ginny blushed the deep pinkish-red that only a ginger could, but made a show of rolling her eyes and brushing it off.

“There’s no problem. I’m in.”

Hermione smirked at Ginny’s embarrassment.

“Well I think the first question is when. Neville’s birthday is only in a couple days. What can we manage in that amount of time? Should we postpone it for a later date?”

Susan shook her head.

“I think we can do it. It would surely mean much to Harry to actually celebrate on his day.”

Hermione’s perfunctory response was so singularly indicative of her personality.

“Okay. Then we’ll need to keep it simple. We can get a cake and some streamers. I’ll see if Molly has—”

Ginny scoffed loudly and interrupted Hermione.

“We are not six years old. If we’re throwing a party, it’s not going to be lame nonsense... I’m thinking pool party. Music, food, and boys.”

“You mean girls... it is a party for Neville and Harry.”

“Sure, but you never know, Susan. Maybe Neville’s into boys.”

Ginny grinned viciously. Susan could feel Hannah—who knew fully well who Neville was ‘in to’—radiate discomfort. Hermione intervened.

“Well, I’m sure there will be plenty of boys and girls for all of us to sexually objectify. But first, where exactly are we going to get a pool? And second, if your goal is to make up for Harry not having birthday parties when he was little then maybe a little bit of lame would be appropriate.”

The distaste was visible on Ginny’s lips but she nodded her ascent.

“There’s a pool at Hogwarts,” Hannah offered.

“Nobody wants to think about school in the middle of the summer. I’ll figure out the pool.”

Susan knew that Hannah would be slightly offended by Ginny’s direct repudiation of her contribution, but that was bound to happen when differing personalities interacted. Hufflepuffs often had to bend and contort to allow the other more rigid personalities to coexist.

“Thanks, Ginny. Hannah, do you think your Mum would be willing to bake us a cake?”

Hannah looked relieved to be included.

“Yeah, I’m sure she would be fine with that.”

“Okay. Then here’s what I think we should do. We’ll do two days with different festivities. On Neville’s day, we’ll have a traditional party with just a few friends for both Harry and Neville. We can do gifts and cake...”

Ginny rolled her eyes.

“Yeah... I’m sure we can play pin the tail on the bandersnatch, too...”

Susan took a deep breath and tried not to overreact. But her voice did take on a condescending tone.

“Okay, sure. That sounds like a _great_ idea. I’ll see what I can find.”

“Wait, that’s not what I meant.”

Ginny clearly did not like her jibe being purposely mistaken. Good.

“Well here’s the deal, then. Harry’s day is all yours. Get us a pool. Invite everybody. We’ll make it a blast. And maybe you can find a boy who doesn’t mind being jerked around.”

“Excuse me!”

Ginevra Weasley was not a Gryffindor for naught.

“I don’t see where you have any business coming after me ‘jerking Harry around’ when Hermione and I were the ones picking up the mess you left behind.”

Susan’s mouth dropped. It wasn’t fair, but it also wasn’t wrong. Hermione physically interposed between them.

“Let’s try to do some preparations and then we can get together again... if necessary.”

Susan took a moment to recover and silently thanked Hermione for that moment.

“Thank you, yes Hermione, I think we have enough to start with.”

“What’s the theme?”

Hannah asked a very good question that she would have gotten to if she hadn’t be so distracted.

“Quidditch.”

“And plants.”

“Okay... Quidditch and plants... plants.”

“You know, Sue. If you want a real Wizard party, we should have a harrowing.”

Hermione turned to Hannah confused.

“A what?”

~ diffindo ~

Harry still felt a little off when he was in the Ministry. It wasn’t anything about the building really. He knew that it was just a place of bureaucracy, but this was where Professor Dumbledore had died. He tried not to think about it as Pansy led him into one of the few lifts that were operating on a weekend afternoon.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Parkinson was already his adviser. Making it official really did very little to him but appeared to be significant to Pansy.

“You’ve described it several times. It seems like if you’re going to help me create a staff, then you’d better be a member of it.”

Pansy nodded her head in silent agreement.

“I’m just saying you could choose someone else.”

She’d been really strange ever since he’d met her father. She seemed simultaneously hot and cold to the idea. Like she was eager, but had strong reservations for some reason.

“If I tire of you, I’ll just fire you.”

He wasn’t prepared for the look of horror he received.

“You can’t do that— I mean you can, but please don’t. Being fired as a staff member would be very damaging to me. If you are displeased with my work, I’ll gladly resign.”

Something about that look scared Harry. That she would seriously hold this fear told him much about her opinion of his judgement.

“I’m not going to fire you. I was just joking.”

“Please don’t. Rumours are like heavy metal poison. They take time to build up but are lethal. It’s not a good way to end a political career.”

Harry nodded solemnly chastised.

“Okay.”

Pansy pointed off to a particular office door as the lift doors were slid open by the lift attendant.

“This way. The registrar came in today as a favour to my father.”

“And you were trying to convince me to dump you. You’re such a terrible daughter.”

He meant this in jest, but Pansy shook her head. Before swinging open the door to registrar’s office.

“You have no idea.”

She turned to greet the official.

“Ms. Flutterby, thank you for making time for this. My father is very grateful.”

“Of course, dear. Aster has been very fair to my family over the years. In truth, I would have been in anyway. So I gather you wish to register your first member of staff, Lord Potter.”

She had called him Lord Potter. Damn that felt weird.

“Yes, Ms. Parkinson is to serve as my chief of staff.”

“My, my. I don’t know which of you to feel sorry for.”

“Him.”

“No, her.”

“Actually yes, me.”

Ms. Flutterby’s smile threatened to expand to her ears.

“Well, I have the form drawn up here. Just write ‘chief of staff’ in the blank and then each of you will sign. Then I take an oath from each of you that you act in free volition and then we’ll be done and you can get back to your minuets, Pansy, dear.”

Harry filled in the form and signed in his messy script. Pansy signed in her neat, crisp stroke. And the registrar extracted oaths from each of them. Then it was done. Harry’s chief of staff was saying goodbye.

“Thank you again, Arletta.”

“No problem, dear. I do wish you the best.”

“Of course. And you.”

As the door closed behind them, Pansy started back toward the lift, but stopped halfway and turned back.

“Since I am now your adviser, I think we need to talk about openness and transparency.”

“Yes, I would like to be as open as possible.”

“Yeah, that’s the problem. You should not have been discussing your apostasy in the church and you cannot continue to let thoughts just deluge forth from your throat as you conceive them.”

“I do things differently. We already agreed to that.”

“Yes, but I cannot stress enough how important it is to divide your life into your public image and your private life. People are going to judge you with almost no information based on conjecture and what little they see in the public view. They will get it wrong almost every time and so you need to make yourself impenetrable to controversy.”

“I don’t think I can do that, Pans. There’s no point if I’m just pressed into the mould of every other politician.”

“Just don’t tell anyone else about your bizarre non-non-belief.”

“Fine. What do we do now?”

“Well, tomorrow we’re going to start getting set up with accounts at the Wizengamot and you’ll need judicial robes. We have a lot of preparations to do. I’ll put together an itinerary and get it too you this evening so you can review it.”

“Relax, Parkinson.”

“You don’t have any idea how much we have to do.”

“Fine, but you don’t need me for tonight.”

“No. I have to get some resources of my own in order.”

“Then, Chief Parkinson, I will—with your leave—take mine.”

“Go ahead. Just remember, you’ll need a clear head. Oh, and Potter, you should find some time to sort out the Dobby affair. You’ll want to be able to answer for that before stepping back into the Wizengamot.”

As Harry walked away, he reflected on the night he’d actually gotten drunk. That had been stupid and embarrassing. He wasn’t going to do anything like that. He was, however, planning to dive into his mind and try to find the night his parent’s died. But that was too important to avoid.

~ diffindo ~

Mon. 29 July

Narcissa hoped she was doing the right thing. Draco of late had been allowing his feelings to interfere with his poise. She had held the former headmaster’s letter back from her son knowing that it could contain little to help him now. But something had to change. This rapid cycling of rage and disdain had to stop before he embarrassed himself. And of course tomorrow would be hell for him.

She gently knocked on his door, but got no reply.

“It’s me, dear.”

“Come on, then.”

She had long ago learned that entering his room unannounced was inadvisable. As she tentatively drew open the door, she saw him hunched over his desk. He’d taken to writing almost constantly when he was not otherwise obligated.

“Draco, I have something that I need to tell you.”

He sighed with exhaustion but set his quill aside and turned to regard her.

“Okay, what is it?”

Narcissa knew that her anxiety couldn’t be seen, but that didn’t make it any less real. And in this family emotions were sensed more than seen.

“When I went to the Headmaster’s will reading, I told you that I was not allowed to receive your private section of the will.”

His eyes now pierced her with the suspicion of an eagle trying to decide if a distant object was prey or not.

“Yes?”

“I was provided with a letter for you. I didn’t see any way in which it could be helpful to you so I haven’t given it to you.”

“I think I can decide what is good for me or not. Do you trust me so little?”

“Of course not, dear. Here.”

And she held out the soul-sealed message that Albus Dumbledore had felt necessary to leave to her only son.

“I believe you can handle it—whatever it turns out to be.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes, dear.”

“Then close the door on your way out.”

Narcissa—though she would never admit such a thing—retreated and enclosed her son back within his privacy. She attempted not to dwell on her concerns and instead turned in the direction of her husband’s chambers. Lucius had been under so much stress and was in need of wise counsel. Again she knocked on the door knowing that his room was his own domain.

“Come!”

Narcissa opened this door with much less trepidation.

“Ah, my love! I was just readying myself for bed. For what pleasure do you bring me tonight.”

She walk around the far side of his bed and climbed up behind him on her knees. She took his broad shoulders in her hands and felt for knots of tension that kept him so high strung. As she pressed into one of them, Lucius leaned his head back and let out a moan of pleasure.

“You mustn’t let the matters on your shoulders weigh you down within you own home.”

“I don’t think I can avoid it. Vex is asking for more. Whoever he is, he wants an end to mudblood and he expects me to make that happen.”

Narcissa shifted from one spot to another kneading out her husband’s tension.

“That is something you wish for as well. Is it not?”

“In time, yes. But not now and not in such a crude manner.”

“Then, my powerful, influential husband—wielder of the Wizengamot majority—show Vex who you are and what your plan is to be.”

“I can’t...”

She could feel the tension draw back into neck. Narcissa snaked herself around in front him and first stepping down to the floor then straddled her husbands nightgown cover legs. She dipped her head next to his ear and whispered huskily.

“My husband is wise and in time can do or have anything he pleases.”

She slipped back and captured his eyes with hers. He knew her desire because she made her desire known. He kissed her and as their breath lapsed she quietly lay him down to address his tension in another way.

~ diffindo ~

As his mother left him to his peace, Draco turned back to the parchment on his desk. He held the letter from the professor in his hand for three seconds considering what exactly he intended to do before placing it unopened into his right-hand desk drawer. Now was not the time. He needed to focus and get it down before he forgot even more. He had been careful to hide the words he was writing from view as his space had been invaded. He glanced over them before setting in to write again.

‘Moriah never was anyone important.’

~ diffindo ~

Harry had suggested moving to his room—the guest room—but Susan had correctly pointed out that so far their best success in managing these feats of mind magic had been in hers and it was unwise to change anything since they didn’t quite know what they were doing anyway.

He was disturbed by how different the experience was from their normal practices. The occlumency practice was abstract. It was all feeling and sense. But when Susan had taken his hand that night, it was like he’d dropped into a complete world—almost like the pensieve memories from Dumbledore or whatever those were. He’d been able to see, to hear, and even to smell the environment around him. Did she do that? What was it and more importantly how did she do that?

Susan glanced back at him supportively but possibly at little nervous. That was fair. They didn’t know what they were dealing with, but Harry didn’t care. If he could see his parents—even if it was just a walking memory—he would pay whatever cost the magic demanded. As long as it didn’t hurt Susan. That was his primary concern, but so far stopping whatever this was was just a matter a breaking physical contact.

As the two of them walked down the deteriorated corridor of some generic hotel, Harry pondered why Susan was here for him. She’d been cruel to him. He’d not wanted to judge her for it, but as he’d reflected on how she’d reacted to his mention of Ginny... It had been cruel—whatever her reasons. But here she was literally holding his hand as he dealt with his own past.

There was no end—no answer—and his musing was truncated as they arrived at the first door. He couldn’t explain how he knew that this was the door he wanted. It probably wasn’t. But some of the doors had an almost magnetic force that pulled at him. He had to open this one.

As he passed through the threshold, he could see Susan following him. They stepped out into a Hogwarts corridor—one that ran adjacent to the room of requirement. He’d become very familiar with this corridor while evading the inquisitorial squad.

A meeting was just breaking up and small sets of gender matched students were making their way back to their dorm lest they run afoul of any of the multitude of Umbridge’s edicts. Susan was no longer beside him but rather was inside him. It was beyond weird, but the only way this seemed to work was when they both looked out through his eyes. It made sense actually. What other perspective could his memory supply?

The two-in-one saw Neville, Dean, and the Creeveys head back toward Gryffindor tower, but as Harry turned to say goodbye to the room of requirement he caught a glance of a pair headed off the other way—not towards any of the dorms.

A stone fell in Harry’s gut and he could sense Susan react in confusion to his emotional response. He knew this night. This was a night when he’d messed up and changed things. He started after the pair staying out of sight and keeping quiet. He shouldn’t be here. It wasn’t his business. But as his feet turned into the darkened corridor, Harry knew what he would see and felt pre-emptive shame.

But memories ran on rails and just like that night not even a year ago, Harry just barely came into an angle to see Hermione gently shove Ron against a wall and down onto a bench planting a deep and not-at-all-friend-like kiss on his lips. He’d never seen her like this and Harry instantly was aware that he should turn and slip away. If either saw him, then nothing would be the same.

Yet—and this was where Harry’s shame reached deepest—he found himself aroused at the sight of his best mate pulling the shirt off his closest friend. He felt blood travelling where it shouldn’t. These were his friends and he shouldn’t be here.

Oh... and Susan was seeing this too. He wilted inside. Any respect she might have still held for him was just destroyed as he was exposed as a deviant pervert. He felt her squirm slightly within him—or aside him maybe. He lacked the precise words to describe how he and Susan collocated in his memory. He was going to be sick. But he hadn’t been sick that night, so he wasn’t now.

His torture did eventually end. When Hermione reached down and unbuttoned Ron’s trousers, even Harry-of-then knew that he had to leave and slowly slithered away a ball of mortified arousal. As he walked through the archway separating this corridor from the next, he saw the taupe walls and carpet of the hotel materialize around him and heard the—now anticipated—ding as the elevator doors closed behind him.

Harry stood in the hallway just processing the humiliation of it all. He had never told anyone—least of all Ron or Hermione—about what he had seen. It was a betrayal and he refused to cause drama between the two when they clearly needed each other. He had to be alone. He had to remain alone.

And as he thought this, he was startled as fingers interlaced with his as Susan—coming up from behind him—took his hand. He looked down seeing the image of her fingers just as he felt her real ones interlock with his. He looked up at her feeling the look of confusion that must be plastered on his face.

She smiled weakly and dipped her head to catch his eyes as he turned away.

“It’s okay, Harry. You didn’t do any harm.”

Harry tried to muster a sensible response but failed utterly finally shaking his head in disagreement.

“We don’t have to talk about it ever if you don’t want to, but I’m still here for you.”

She smiled warmly and Harry did his best to return the sentiment. He turned, took a deep breath, and started down the hallway again. Susan’s voice came from behind him.

“I’ve never seen anything quite like that. It was... exciting.”

He didn’t know if Susan could see him blush.

~ diffindo ~

She didn’t know if Harry could see her blush.

His life was so eventful. Susan was a little disturbed by what she had seen, but it wasn’t like it didn’t happen at Hogwarts—not so much in random corridors—but with that many hormones in one place... She hadn’t been able to turn away and it wasn’t because he didn’t. She’d walked away in Umbridge’s office and at the ball, but Susan hadn’t left when it was clear this wasn’t Harry’s childhood past.

‘Spellbound’ was the right term.

Hermione was her friend. They had been close classmates for years, but to see her behaving that way. Susan was immediately repulsed and aroused. Her friend was such an academic soul that seeing her behave so... physically. It was a weird form of jealousy.

But she was here to help Harry. She’d worry about the consequences later. She recalled experiencing his thoughts of Hermione at the Yule Ball and began to wonder if the closed box that held those feelings might not be as closed and locked as it seemed.

“Well— I guess we should try again.”

“Are you sure, Susan?”

“Yes, Harry, it was just... shocking. Pick another door. An older one if you can manage it.”

Harry turned and led the way down the hall. Each time they arrived back here he became clearer—more like the actual Harry and less like her idea of him. He had turned to face a door. His hand was hovering over the handle as if he wasn’t sure if he should continue.

“I have a suggestion, Harry, if you want one.”

His hand pulled away.

“Yes. Please.”

“You seem to have some sense of whether a door is important before we open or walk through it. Maybe if you try to sense someone or something specific to what you want to find. You’re looking for the night _he_ came after you parents...”

She hoped the implication was clear. She knew that it would be hard for Harry to think about, but Voldemort was the key to that night. There were just too many key memories to keep searching randomly.

Harry nodded and touch the scar on his forehead before turning and continuing down the hall and up several flights of stairs that Susan couldn’t count. She was getting used to this indeterministic environment—everything is relative—even the relationships between things.

But eventually—after an unknown amount of what could loosly be called time—they stood in front of another door. Harry was visibly distressed.

“What’s wrong, Harry.”

“It just hasn’t hurt since the ministry.”

“Your scar? Does it hurt now?”

“Yeah. A lot.”

Susan took his hand again.

“I know that it’s hard, but the pain is a good sign that you’re in the right place, right?”

She jolted slightly as he shook her off.

“You have no idea what it’s like...”

“I think I’m about to Harry. Unless you want to stop, but I don’t know how we’ll find the door again.”

He didn’t respond to that. Instead he took two deep breaths and turned back to the door, opened it, and stepped through.

The first sensation was pain. It shot through her skull and then radiated through her whole body. Her mind blanked and could she have but screamed she would. There was no thought to where she was or why this was happening. All was pain.

And then it was gone. The relief felt like an emptiness. Her eyes—his eyes—opened and through tear covered lenses she saw an ugly deformed face peering down on her. She did not know this person, but her intuition and many years of childhood tales convinced her that this was Voldemort. Harry hadn’t been tortured as a baby, had he?

She felt Harry turn their gaze to the side and she could see a wisp of golden hair echoing the colours of his Hufflepuff robes. It was Cedric. His face was lifeless. She might imagine he was unconscious, but of course Susan knew otherwise and she also knew where and when they were. This was the night of the final Tri-wizard task—the night Cedric had come back dead. No Hufflepuff would forget that night.

Harry turned back to Voldemort who smiled almost understandingly. His voice light and almost a whisper.

“Do not feel bad for the boy. He has died much more quickly and painlessly than you shall.”

The Dark Lord stepped back.

“Stand up! You are the chosen one, yes? Face me. Show me the mighty power that is sent against me. Come forth.”

Harry struggled to rise. She knew how he felt. She would rather die on her feet if she could. How did he get out of this?

“Come now! You know how to duel. Manners, of course.”

Voldemort stretched out the psychological torture forcing Harry through the machinations of a formal duel. Susan reminded herself that this was a memory and prepared to endure. The spectacular light show she received when Voldemort hurled a death curse at Harry and he defended himself was entirely unexpected. Shafts of visible magic arced across the distance. 

Wands didn’t do this. She expected to be instantly overpowered, but somehow Harry held on even pressing back. As Harry held their ground Susan realized something else. He had effectively blocked a death curse. That wasn’t possible. It wasn’t possible. Arguably the spell was still in flight, but even holding such a spell at bay for a moment... 

Where was Harry on the Nott scale to be able to hold this kind of standoff?

Shockingly, it wasn’t even a standoff, Susan could feel immense magic passing through her and it continued to build. Harry had an advantage and the contact point between the colliding spells slid back toward Voldemort. Susan even saw a moment of true fear in the somewhat reptilian eyes when Harry’s disarming spell finally reached his opponent’s wand.

It flew out of the Dark Lord’s hand and hit the ground bursting out a spell echo that Susan knew was indicative of Prior Incantato. Why it was doing that—she had no idea, but there were echoes of the people Voldemort had killed including Cedric. These echoes swarmed around the graveyard causing pandemonium.

If they were going to escape they had to go now. They were moving over to Cedric’s body. Harry truly was a brave soul. As loyal as Susan was, she would have escaped without Cedric’s body the moment she had the chance. But no sooner had she thought this then they were at Cedric. She heard a summoning charm and saw the cup fly into their grip. The world swirled around them and she found herself on the floor next to Harry with the elevator doors closing behind them.

She pushed up into a sitting position and saw Harry do the same. In his eyes she read the message ‘so that happened’.

“I’m sorry, Harry.”

“What for?”

She paused briefly.

“When Cedric came back dead, I didn’t really believe you either. I convinced myself that maybe you believed you’d fought Voldemort, but I couldn’t imagine how...”

“How I didn’t end up dead?”

“Yeah...”

“I don’t know... still don’t.”

“Harry? Some of those things... they aren’t supposed to be possible.”

His eyes reflected earnest confusion.

“You can’t block the killing curse.”

“Something must be able to.”

“No, Harry, it’s not possible.”

“But, Susan, if I point my wand at the ground and issue a death curse, does someone die. The curse hits the ground and dissipates.”

“A physical barrier, sure, but not with magic. No magic can block it. That’s part of why it’s unforgivable. There’s no defense.”

“Dumbledore said that it was a rare effect. He called it something... priori... incantatem.”

Susan had recognized the spell effect immediately, but Harry hadn’t cast that spell nor had Voldemort, so what had caused it?

“Prior incantato. That is what was happening to his wand. Is that what the connection between your wands was?”

“Maybe... the professor said that my wand and Voldemort’s were brothers—that they had the same core.”

She was quickly realizing that the mystery was not going to be solved in the next few minutes. It might be entirely beyond her.

“Should we continue? We’ve come so far.”

Harry nodded and helped her up.

“That was more than a year ago, but you’ll have to go a lot deeper to find the night you lost your parents.”

“Yeah, and I think I can do it now. I encountered Voldemort twice before the night in the cemetery. If we track memories that include him counting backwards, I should find a large gap. When I was with Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, I was protected by my mother’s sacrifice.”

“Okay, that sounds right.”

Susan was slightly startled when Harry turned and sprinted down hall. She was quickly after him, but the walls blurred as doors flew past at an alarming rate. At least it wasn’t going to take forever to get there. The walls and floor changed as though they were being deconstructed in front of them. Features slowly fell away. Door frames, hand rails, carpet, paint, dry-wall. As Harry slowed down, Susan could see a black void peeking in between the studs. There was no ceiling. They weren’t quite at the end of the hall, but they stood before a somewhat distinctive door. It was a little larger than the rest, but was made of the same simple slats as the others surrounding them.

“Is this it?”

Harry looked scared and almost surprised that he’d found it.

“Yeah.”

She remembered the first time they’d experienced this. It had been disjointed and difficult to make sense of. Feeling the raw emotions of the one-year-old Harry had stressed her faculties. She steeled herself and slowly nodded to her friend.

She waited for the fear and confusion, but instead she felt powerful. She was confident and sure of himself... herself. She breathed in the room around her and rolled her head back dissecting the details of what she could perceive. The mother was still standing in the room.

Susan stepped over the body at her feet and opened the bedroom door.

“Greetings, Ms. Potter.”

She turned and tried to raise a spell. It was weak. She was without a wand and even if she’d had one.

“You needn’t die tonight. Step aside and I’ll spare you.”

But her eyes didn’t hold fear. They held hatred and blind determination. It was a pity.

“Avada Kedavra.”

All that was left was the child. No prophecy would end his reign.

Susan reached out to and felt the comforting lines connecting her to her... something. She didn’t have a word for what these were. Prophecy be damned. ‘None of woman born’. This threat would die tonight.

As she drew back to issue another killing curse, Susan realized what she was doing, where she was, and who she was. She’d been completely overwhelmed, but she was looking out from the eyes of the Dark Lord. He was about to kill Harry.

How was this possible?

Harry cannot possibly remember what he looked like at age one, but here she was looking through his memory at himself. She couldn’t stop the curse. This was history. Just a memory. The curse left the tip of her wand... his wand and struck Harry face on. It briefly shimmered around him and momentarily he seemed to fade—not of life but rather visibly fade. Then eerie green light cascaded around the baby and then came right back at her.

Susan felt a bottomless fear. An endless terror of ceasing to exist. Her body became heavy. And then she was light. Like a million particles floating in space—free of the forces of nature. But then she was being drawn in like stellar dust falling into a gravity well. She was drawn in like opening a vacuum sealed container.

There was weight again. Less weight.

She felt excruciating pain radiate through her skull and then there was only darkness. Something very wrong had happened in that nursery. And finally with creeping dread, Susan realized that she didn’t sense Harry’s presence any more. There was just an echo that was neither Harry’s fear nor Voldemort’s confidence. It was a thought that had been left on the breeze.

‘We can be together now, Lily.’


End file.
